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EDwatfc  Millard  Matson 


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Philadelphia 
Henry  T.  Coates  ef  (V 

1&95 


4 


Copyrighted,  1895, 
Bv  Edward  Wii.lard  Watson. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

To-Day  and  Yesterday 5 

Beyond  the  Veil 6 

Lost  Love 13 

My  White  Rose 14 

When  I  am  Dead 15 

Reminiscence 18 

Heredity 19 

The  Wheel  of  God 21 

The  Herald 23 

Science  and  Faith 26 

My  Kingdom 33 

The  Church  and  the  Chemist 34 

Knowledge  and  Doubt 36 

The  Cry  of  the  Hopeless 39 

Not  a  Sparrow  Falls 42 

Evolution  of  Doubt 43 

The  Weed  and  the  Flower 46 

The  Hope  that  Science  Leaves 4S 

The  Unheeded  Voice      51 

Judge  Not  ..• 54 

A  Martyr 55 

"  Oh,  Rapt  Believer  " 56 

Sin 57 

Toleration - 58 

The  Hades  of  Science 59 

Nirvana 60 

Karma .       63 

The  Rosary  of  Life  . 66 

Idyls — Sunset 6S 

Sea      71 

Childhood 74 

"       Sunrise 78 


In  the  Land  West  of  the  Sun 81 

Undine  Lost 84 

Return  of  Undine 87 

Not  of  Our  World 90 

A  Socialist  s  Plea .      94 

Render  Unto  Caesar 97 

The  Conqueror 99 

The  Powers  That  Be 

Old  Thanksgiving 

A  Prayer 

A  Protest 

As  Home  I  Come 

Without  the  Gate 

Brothers  of  Dives 

Woman's  Love 

The  Ring 

Whom  God  Hath  Joined 

Janet 

His  Plea 

At  the  Theatre 

A  Medallion 

Sister  of  Mercy 

Farewell  .       

Delilah 

Helene 

A  Red  Sunset • 

Waiting 

Mystery 

Work 

Melody 

My  Gallery 

The  Beaches 

The  Minster  Bells 

The  Way  of  Life 

Dreaming 

"  Sphinx  of  the  East  " 

Shadows     


TO-DAY  AND  YESTERDAY. 

Since  all  the  thought  of  yesterday  is  old, 
And,  for  to-morrow,  different  from  to-day, 

Uncertain  is  the  soul  on  what  to  hold ; 
What  to  store  up,  and  what  to  cast  away. 

And,  as  a  mirror  flashes  back  to  view 

Each  passing  scene,  yet  keeps  its  lustre  bright, 

So  we  discard  the  old  thought  for  the  new, 
And  still  go  on  in  thinking,  wrong  or  right. 

But  could  we  have  these  images  that  pass 
Brought  all  together  from  a  score  of  years, 

Just  as  they  shone  within  the  silvered  glass, 
We  scarce  could  see  them  thro'  a  mist  of  tears. 


(5) 


BEYOND  THE  VEIL. 

Out  of  the  night  we  came, 

And  into  night, 

In  joy  or  shame, 

We  take  our  flight. 

This  end  to  all  will  come ; 

For  us  earth  seals  no  doom  ; 

But  when,  or  where, 

Can  spirit  dare 

To  claim  its  share. 

Out  of  the  night  we  came, 
Was  it  from  dark  to  light  ? 
Our  day  may  be  as  night 
To  those  beyond ; 
It  seemeth  bright  below, 
And  sunlight's  silver  glow 
Brings  fancies  fond ; 
But  what  beyond  may  be, 
In  vast  eternity, 
Is  strange  to  me. 

Against  thy  veil,  O  Death,  I  beat, 
While  here  below  life  comes  and  goes  ; 
Against  thy  soft,  dark  veil,  O  Death, 
I  beat  like  fire-fly,  in  some  burning  heat, 
That  scorns  the  rose, 
Yet  dares  the  flame, 
Of  which  it  nothing  knows  ; 
(6) 


Dark  may  be  light, 

And  darkness  may  be  bright 

To  those  beyond ; 

There  may  they  gaze, 

Through  burning  haze, 

While  we  but  strive, 

While  here  we  live, 

To  guess,  with  fancies  fond. 

Against  thy  soft,  still  veil 
Press  faces  pale ; 
Against  thy  sombre  cloud. 
Hushed  voices  crowd  ; 
And  cry,  and  die, 
And  from  our  vision  fly. 

If  we  might  only  know, 

Not  guess,  with  fond  imaginings 

If  in  our  hearts  might  flow 

Some  melody  from  heavenly  strings  ; 

If  we  might  only  know 

If  there  be  more  beyond  ; 

Or,  if  we  only  flash  and  glow, 

Then,  fade  from  memories  fond. 

If  we  might  only  know 

What  comes  to  all, 

When  the  wild  blood  will  flow 

No  more,  nor  voices  call. 

In  our  distress,  our  limbs  we  press 
Against  each  dismal  fold. 
What  sights  and  scenes  of  awfulness 
Might  we  beyond  behold. 


All  evil  things,  and  spectres  die 

In  darkness,  lit  by  lurid  fire, 

In  burning  heat,  or  deadly  cold, 

Into  one  Hell  of  horror  rolled, 

We  see  in  our  distress. 

All  the  dark  things  we  hold  in  dread, 

All  evil  ones  among  the  dead, 

These  we  descry,  and  shrink,  and  die, 

And  vanish,  too,  in  nothingness. 

What  lies  beyond? 

O  memories  fond  ! 

O  dear  ones  gone ! 

O  long  lost  song  ! 

O  soft,  sweet  light ! 

O  dear  eyes  bright ! 

O  fond  delight ! 

'Tis  never  night 

If  these  be  there  ; 

Away  from  care, 

Away  from  fear, 

Among  all  dear, 

In  the  soft  light  that  knows  no  night, 

No  burning  heat,  but  rest  that's  sweet ; 

Which  may  it  be,  O  Curtain  Dread, 

That  parts  us  from  the  dear  and  dead  ? 

Hast  Thou  another  side,  or  can 
Thy  folds  be  ever  passed  by  man  ? 
For  none  return  ;  none  come  to  tell ; 
We  die,  and  with  the  tolling  bell 
Our  memories  end. 


Our  thoughts  may  burn, 

Our  hearts  may  yearn, 

But  never  may  thy  curtain  rend, 

Or  through  its  fold  quick  glances  send. 

What  power  dread,  O  Death,  art  Thou  ? 
Laying  thy  cold  hand  on  the  brow ; 
Stilling  wild  beat  of  hearts,  and  eager  feet, 
Leaving  for  us — a  sob  ; 
Coming  our  homes  to  rob, 
Of  all  that's  dear  and  sweet. 

Before  thy  veil  lies  silence. 

Behind  ?  Are  glories  rolled 

In  myriad  circles,  fold  on  fold, 

And  laughter,  and  glad  singing  ? 

Or  Stillness  ?  Black  or  Gold  ? 

Which  is  it  ?  Answer  us,  O  Death  ! 

To  Thee  we  cry ;  to  Thee  we  pray, 

To  Thee,  on  bended  knees,  we  say 

Our  Prayer;  Who  art  Thou  then,  O  Death  ? 

Giver  or  Taker-away  of  life, 

Beginner  or  Ender  of  earthly  strife, 

Tell  us  ;  we  listen,  we  plead,  we  pray  ? 

Thou  Lord  of  the  night, 

Thou  Lord  of  the  day, 

Hear  us,  and  answer  us  while  we  pray. 

Answer  I  hear,  so  sweet,  so  clear : 
"  Weary  mortals  banish  fear  ; 
Cease  to  cry  ye  know  not  what  ; 
I  am  all  ye  think  me  not. 


10 


I  am  He  that  gave  you  life, 

Sent  you  forth  to  deadly  strife, 

But,  tho'  ye  win  but  tears  and  pain, 

I  take  you  to  myself  again. 

I  give  you  sorrow,  I  give  you  breath, 

I  watch  and  wait  behind  the  veil ; 

I  long  to  call  you  far  from  pain, 

And  claim  you  as  mine  own  again  ; 

But  ever  ye  faint,  ye  fail ; 

Ye  will  not  learn  my  name, 

Tho'  I  wait  to  give  you  bliss, 

For  on  your  side  you  call  me  Death, 

But  my  name  is  Love  on  this. 

Darkness  on  that  side,  Light  on  this. 

Love  is  my  name,  all  hearts  I  claim, 

But  ye  will  not,  ye  will  not,  ye  choose  your  lot, 

And  I  cannot  break  your  chain." 

O,  Spirit  high  and  far,  whose  name  is  Love, 

Thou  Giver,  Lover,  ever  brooding  Dove, 

I  lift,  O  love,  my  arms  to  Thee 

Whom  I  believe,  yet  cannot  see  ; 

I  lift  my  arms  in  vain,  from  out  my  pain ; 

Come  for  me,  if  I  be  thine  own, 

And  take  me  back  to  Thee  again. 

With  burning  eyes  I  strive  to  pierce 

The  very  skies,  with  vision  fierce  ; 

I  stretch  my  arms  in  vain  to  Thee 

Whom  I  believe,  yet  cannot  see. 

"  This  is  the  answer,  loud  and  clear, 
Told  in  your  ear,  by  saint  and  seer, 


II 


Only,  when  bringing  love  to  me, 

Can  I  reach  down  my  arms  to  thee. 

Bring  love  to  me  ; 

Bring  any  love  to  me  ; 

Thy  faults  'twill  cover  and  remove, 

For  I  am  Love. 

Bring  love  to  me,  bring  human  love  to  me, 

Bring  any  love,  but  love  of  self,  to  me, 

For  I  am  Love. 

I  watch,  I  wait,  to  ope  the  gate  ; 

Stretch  thy  love-laden  arms  to  me. 

Hast  lost  thy  life,  in  deadly  strife, 
To  save  the  right,  from  error's  might, 

Hast  languished  ill,  in  dungeon  still, 

Wast  lost  in  sea,  for  love  of  me, 

Or  love  of  any  one,  small  or  great, 

In  the  world  men  fill  with  burning  hate, 

That  I  gave  them  to  keep  ; 

Then  awake  !  Arise  from  your  weary  sleep  ; 

Out  from  the  fire-flame,  up  from  the  keep  ! 

From  noisome  mists  that  at  evening  creep ; 

Out,  and  up  from  the  awful  deep, 

To  my  arms,  to  my  love,  you  may  joyful  leap. 

This  and  this  only— Love  is  all. 

Love  that  dares,  love  that  dies, 

Love  that  cares,  love  that  flies, 

Love  that  conquers,  love  that  fails, 

Love  that  is  tearful,  love  that  smiles, 
Love  that  fears  not,  love  that  hears  not, 
Love  that  cares  not,  love  that  wears  not 
Out  in  the  struggle  of  sin  below  ; 
This  is  the  love  that  ye  must  know  ; 


12 


This  is  the  love  divine,  and  ye 
When  ye  possess  it,  then  shall  see 
Love  that  gave  you,  Death  that  claims, 
Are  but  the  same,  and  both  my  names. 
I  am  the  Spirit  of  Love  and  Death ; 
Giver,  and  Taker-avvay,  of  breath, 
Maker — Destroyer — both  in  one  ; 
Night  and  Darkness,  Day  and  Sun ; 
But  only  when  laden  with  love  for  me 
Can  I  ever  reach  down  my  arms  for  thee. 


LOST  LOVE. 

Sweet  love  is  bliss,  but  that  the  thought  of  parting- 
Comes,  like  a  cloud,  over  our  loving  sun  ; 

And  love  is  life,  yet,  thro'  our  senses  darting, 

Comes  the  dread  thought  of  death  and  we  undone. 

And  love  is  sweet,  but  death  is  dark  and  dreary, 
Yet  are  they  two,  one  and  the  same,  at  last ; 

Death  is  the  lover  coming  for  the  weary, 

Love  is  the  rest,  when  grief  and  pain  are  past. 

Ah,  Love  and  Death,  Ah,  Death  and  Love,  I  pray  ye 
Be  to  my  heart  as  one  and  come  to-night  ; 

For  saddest  love  I  have,  may  naught  delay  ye, 
And  take  me  with  you  in  your  timeless  flight. 

Dear  love,  lost  love,  lost  yet  among  the  living, 
Seen,  yet  unseen,  mine,  but  still  never  mine, 

Who  gavest  love  for  love,  yet  by  no  giving, 
Can  bless  my  life,  I  now  thy  love  resign. 

Unlock  thine  arms,  shut  thy  dark  eyes  and  sever, 
Once  and  for  all,  thy  heart  from  mine  to-night. 

Leave  me  to  darkness  and  the  dread  forever, 
And  let  death  take  me  from  thy  living  light. 

For  Love  is  sweet,  and  Death  is  dark  and  dreary, 
Yet  are  they  two,  one  and  the  same,  at  last ; 

Death  is  the  Lover,  coming  for  the  weary, 

Love  is  the  Rest,  when  grief  and  pain  are  past. 

(13) 


MY  WHITE  ROSE. 

O,  my  sweet  rose,  my  white  rose, 
My  single,  blooming  flower, 

Must  thou  go  ?  For  I  love  thee  so  ! 
God  knows,  for  it  is  His  hour. 

O,  my  rare  rose,  my  white  rose, 
Sole  treasure  of  my  bower  ; 

I  cannot  sleep,  I  cannot  weep, 
God  knows,  for  it  is  His  hour. 

O,  my  dear  rose,  my  white  rose, 
My  pale,  pure,  loving  flower, 

It  is  my  doom  ;  no  more  will  bloom, 
God  knows,  for  it  is  His  hour. 

O,  my  lost  rose,  my  white  rose, 
My  one  sweet-scented  flower ; 

Oh,  why  take  thee  !  thou'rt  all  to  me  ? 
God  knows,  for  it  is  His  hour. 


(14) 


WHEN  I  AM  DEAD. 

When  I  am  dead  shall  I  meet  thee,  coming,  O  Christ 
in  the  gloaming, 
Coming  thro'  shadows  of  death,  with  light  on  thy 
glorious  face  ? 
Shall  I  fall  low  at  thy  feet,  I,  so  weary  of  roaming, 
Clasping  thy  robe  in  my  arms  with  despairing  em- 
brace ? 

When  I  am  dead  shall  I  see  thee,  afar  off,  distant 
and  faintly, 
Gazing  on  others  with  love,  but  thy  face  turned  ever 
away  ? 
Ringed  round  and  circled  with  thousands  of  beings 
angelic  and  saintly, 
And  shall  I  turn   in   despair,  and  flee   from   thy 
beautiful  day  ? 

Shall  I  see  thee  at  all  ?    art  thou  in  the  distant  here- 
after ; 
Or   hast   thou   gone   down   to   death,  just   as    the 
others  who  sleep  ? 
Is  there  no  place  in  the  grave,  any  more,  for  sorrow  or 
laughter ; 
Fond  recollections  of  earth,  or  of  those  who  rejoice 
or  who  weep  ? 

(15) 


i6 

Hundreds  of  years  we  have  waited ;  still  in  despair 
we  are  falling ; 
Doomed  to  uncertainty,  fated  to  live  and   to  die 
without  hope; 
Where  is  his  promise  they  ask  us  ?  hark  how  the  ages 
are  calling ! 
Why  drag  the  wheels  of  his  chariot,  while  in  the 
darkness  we  grope  ? 

Am  I  a  dreamer  of  dreams  when  I  call  thee  "  Lord 
of  the  Nations"  ? 
Art  thou  Lord  of  the  waking,  or  Lord  of  the  crea- 
tures that  sleep  ? 
Art  thou  no  better  than  they,  whom  all  men  call  thy 
creations, 
Dost  thou,  too,  lie  in  the  grave,  and  thy  court  in 
nothingness  keep  ? 

Come  to  us,  come  when  the  evening  is  dark  and  the 
moonlight  is  hidden. 
Come  while  we  sit  in  the  silence,  and  brood  o'er  the 
wreck  of  our  faith. 
Come  to  us,  just  as  thou  didst  to  thy  little  band,  com- 
ing unbidden, 
Come  like  a  thief  in  the  night,  come  like  a  tenuous 
wraith. 

Answer,  we  claim  it,  we  dare  it,  light  on  our  darkness 
is  breaking. 
Come,  now  if  ever,  declare  it,  time  must  be  ripe  for 
thy  light ; 


17 

But  in  the  silence  is  terror,  list  to  our  hearts  and  their 
quaking ; 
Souls  are  not ;  life's  but  a  fever,  and  dieth  away  in  a 
night. 

Come,  for  the  ages  have  tarried,  the  night  to  the  world 
still  is  clinging ; 
Come,  for  we've  waited  and  wondered,  and  longed 
for  the  promise  you  gave  ; 
Come,  and  our  sorrows  will  end,  and  joy,  made  tri- 
umphant by  singing, 
Burst  from  our  wearying  hearts,  as  life  breaks  forth 
from  thy  grave. 

When  I  am  dead  shall  I  meet  thee,  coming,  O  Christ, 
in  the  gloaming  ? 
Coming  thro'  shadows  of   death,  with  love  on  thy 
glorious  face  ? 
Shall  I  fall  low  at  thy  feet,  I,  so  weary  of  roaming ; 
Clasping  the  hem  of  thy  robe,  in  despairing  em- 
brace ? 


REMINISCENCE. 

On  earth  I  pray, 

In  early  day, 

To  Ishtar — Goddess  sweet  of  love. 

As  time  goes  swift, 

My  eyes  I  lift 

To  Hathor  and  her  sacred  dove. 

At  Here's  shrine 

I  pour  out  wine, 

In  Greece,  as  time  goes  by. 

In  Rome  I  raise 

My  ardent  gaze 

To  Venus  for  reply. 

Now,  as  I  wait, 
To  learn  my  fate, 
No  Goddess  near  I  see ; 
Though,  "God  is  love," 
All  gods  above, 
Religion  cries  to  me. 

O  Mary,  virgin, 

In  the  skies, 

Thou  lookest  down  with  Here's  eyes, 

O  Mary,  mother, 

Tried  and  true, 

What  are  our  little  loves  to  you  ? 


(18) 


HEREDITY. 

I  will  arise  and  to  my  fathers  go  ; 

To  all  the  fathers  that  I  boast  as  mine. 

To  all  the  line  innumerable  of  them 

That  were  my  fathers  since  my  race  began. 

I  will  arise,  yet  to  myself  I'll  go, 

To  myriad  forms  and  shadows  of  myself 

Who  people  Hades ;  like  me  once,  and  now, 

But  the  decayed  and  tenuous  ghosts  of  me  ; 

To  them  I  go,  to  me  they  downward  come 

And  claim  in  me  their  child,  and  yet  themselves. 

All  merged  in  me — I  backward  turned  in  them, 

Into  a  thousand  others,  yet  the  same. 

Like  broken  images  in  breaking  wave, 

Like  shadows,  cast  on  walls  of  some  vast  cave. 

Caused  by  one  form— passing,  and  passing  back, 

Endlessly  pacing  on  one  narrow  path. 

I  will  arise  and  search  the  hidden  way, 

For  all  my  sisters  and  my  brothers  lost, 

Whom  I  have  known  and  loved  in  ages  past. 

I  will  arise — yet  whither  shall  I  go  ? 

Into  the  Past  ?  Why,  I  might  sooner  wend 

Upon  my  way  thro'  distant  future  scenes, 

Than  to  go  backward  and  retrace  my  steps. 

The  past  is  barren,  and  the  world  of  shades 

Holds    none   that   claim    me,   none   that    know   my 

name. 
For  all  around  me,  on  life's  narrow  stage, 
Are  all  I  loved  or  hated,  in  the  eld  ; 
All  that  did  work  me  evil,  do  me  good, 

(*9) 


20 

Lull  my  last  hour,  or  catch  my  infant  cry. 
With  them  I  act  my  part.     The  players  all, 
Each  time  we  enter  on  our  narrow  stage, 
Are  still  the  same.     The  names  are  changed,  per- 
chance, 
And  so's  the  drama's  title,  which  we  play, 
But  the  old  scenes  recur;  the  lines  we  learn 
As  new  to-day  slip  glibly  from  the  tongue  ; 
For  many  a  time,  in  ages  gone,  we  walked 
And  spouted  to  the  listeners  the  same  words  ; 
Did  the  same  deeds,  received  the  same  applause, 
Or  fled  the  stage  in  terror  or  disgrace. 
For  life's  a  play,  played  o'er,  sometimes,  I  think, 
For  ears  and  eyes  divine,  to  while  an  hour  ; 
To  trick  the  ennui  of  a  gilded  heaven, 
And  stir  the  pulse  Eternity  has  chilled. 
And  we,  the  players,  we,  who  love  and  mourn, 
Are  crowned  or  crushed,  are  torn  with  joy  or  pain, 
After  our  many  scenes,  when  perfect  we 
In  all  our  lines  and  characters  and  work, 
May  be  received  as  worthy  then  to  be 
Viewers  of  others,  on  some  alien  stage, 
Be  stage-directors,  managers  and  powers, 
Who  move  the  marionettes  and  pull  the  wires 
That  shift  the  scenery ;  beat  the  drums,  that  roll 
In  muttering  thunder,  mechanism  to  us, 
But  to  the  actors  very  real  and  true ; 
Chilling  their  hearts  with  terror,  till  they  fall 
Down  on  their  knees,  and  beg  us,  drummers  all, 
Only  to  spare  them  space  for  better  deeds, 
Only  to  grant  them  life — a  few  brief  days — 
And  health — and  riches — and  the  thing  we  yearned 
Always  to  have  and  hold,  when  we  were  men. 


THE  WHEEL  OF  GOD. 

"  Oh,  my  God,  make  them  like  unto  a  wheel." 

O,  my  God,  to  me  be  pitiful ! 

To  mine  enemies  be  a  sword. 

I  Thy  Servant  was  ever,  and  trusted  Thee, 

Resting  my  hope  on  Thy  word. 

But  mine  enemies  pursue  me  ;  without  Thee, 

Even  now,  they  bring  me  to  the  ground  ; 

I  never  failed  Thee  ;  they  ever  defy  Thee  ; 

Therefore,  I  pray  Thee,  "  Make  them  go  round. 

Make  them  go  round  and  round,  as  a  wheel  ; 

Make  them  whirl  round  and  round, 

Till  Thy  Power,  in  agony,  they  feel, 

Whirling  round,  in  darkness  profound. 

Down  to  the  depths  of  Thy  sunless  world, 

Up  to  the  blaze  of  Thy  star-fires  hurled. 

Make  them  go  round  in  fears. 

Morrow  on  morrow,  unending  before  them, 

Thine  eye  awful  in  anger  o'er  them, 

Make  them  go  round  in  tears. 

Make  them  go  round  in  terror  and  pain, 

Till  tears  can  flow  no  more  again, 

On  Thy  rolling  wheel,  that  maddens  and  sears, 

While  their  blinded  souls  shriek  louder  again, 

With  their  shrunken  cheeks  terror-blanched, 

As  out  into  oceans  vast  they're  launched. 

Let  them  go  round  in  Thine  Ocean, 

Thine  Ocean  without  a  shore. 

(21) 


22 


Let  them  forever  go  round — go  round, 
Whirling,  forevermore. 

Up  to  Thy  pallid  sky  whirl  them, 

Down  to  the  darkness  of  night. 

Off  to  Thy  Outermost  hurl  them, 

Far  from  the  blessing  of  light. 

Scorch  their  mad  eyes  ;  when  they  would  see, 

Show  them  the  terrors  of  sight. 

Round  let  them  go,  ever  spinning, 

No  ending,  nor  ever  beginning  ; 

Oh,  my  God,  shut  mercy  from  them  ! 

Close  forever  Thy  door  ! 

Oh !  my  God,  make  them  go  round  and  round, 

Like  a  wheel,  forevermore. 


THE  HERALD. 

Surely  man,  by  Evolution,  is  the  herald  of  his  God, 
But  in  ages  few  are  fitted  to  announce  his  coming 
reign  ; 
Yet,  when  time  is  ripe  and  waiting,  springs  the  herald 
from  the  sod, 
As  a  taller  spray  of   barley  in  a  ripening  field  of 
grain. 

And  the  sun  may  scorch  its  freshness,  or  too  early  it 

may  ripe, 
Or  the  winds  blow  fiercely  on  it,  till  it  falls  upon 

the  ground  ; 
So  we  recognize  but  rarely  men  of  high  and  wondrous 

type, 

And  we  know  not  how  they  often  die  away  without 
a  sound  ; 

How  the  fowls  of  air  may  flutter  over  fields  of  human 
grain, 
How  the  grasshopper  may  waste  them,  till  they  lie 
all  sere  and  brown  ; 
But  we  thank  the  lord  of  Nature  that  a  few  may  still 
remain, 
Rising  high  above  the  harvest,  in  the  field  which  He 
has  sown. 

For  they  spring  up  to  the  sunlight  and  they  lift  their 
voices  high, 

(23) 


24 

And  they  cry  aloud  their  message,  on  the  warm  and 
sultry  air ; 
To  their  brothers  all  appealing — ever  pointing  to  the 
sky, 
With  their  words  of  love  and  warning,  which  they 
grew  but  to  declare. 

These  are  they  the  world  has  cherished,  these  are  they 
the  world  has  killed. 
Little  bands  of  faithful  servants  holding  by  them  to 
the  end ; 
Till  the  voices,  and  their  sweetness,  by  the  wicked 
world  were  stilled, 
And  their  beautiful,  bright  spirits  to  the  azure  sky 
ascend. 

Name  them  not,  or  name  not,  one  alone  and  silence 
keep  beside, 
They  are  all,  together,  worthy  ;  they  are  brothers  of 
mankind  ; 
For  humanity  they  lived  their  life,  for  human  hope 
they  died, 
But  humanity  was  thoughtless,  and  human  hope  was 
blind. 

Unknown  heroes,  unknown  teachers,  of  whom  history 
telleth  not, 
Lying  low  in  unknown  graves,  no  lofty  tombs  to  tell 
the  place, 
Yet  perchance  to  them  befell — not  to  us— the  happy 
lot, 
And  they  earned  the  bright  reward,  though  they  per- 
ished in  the  race. 


25 

All  their  voices,  if  you  listen,  cry  in  unison  to  earth, 
But  we  hear  with  feeble  ears,  and  we  often  lose  its 
tone. 
God — Eternity — and  Love — sing  they  from  their  lowly 
birth, 
And  they  sing,  and  die  in  singing,  as  they  lived  their 
lives,  alone. 


SCIENCE  AND  FAITH. 

I. 

Old  is  the  world,  its  ways  are  new  ; 
For  now  it  seeks  to  find  the  True. 
As  once  the  Beautiful  it  sought, 
And  all  the  lines  of  Beauty  taught ; 
Now,  in  the  cold  and  steady  glare 
Of  mighty  science,  Truth  lies  bare. 
Stripped  from  the  very  heart  of  men 
Lie  all  their  fancies  fond,  and  then, 
Naked  and  cold,  they  turn  and  cry, 
"  Give  us  some  new  divinity." 
For  who  can  rest  in  dying  hour 
And  reach  out  toward  an  "  Unknown  Power,' 
And  what  are  "  Light  and  Sweetness,"  then, 
But  attributes  beyond  our  ken  ? 
Where  is  the  God  we  learned  in  youth, 
The  "  Love  Divine,"  the  "  Living  Truth  "  ? 
Where  for  the  homeless  soul  shall  be 
Its  home,  in  dread  Eternity  ? 
These  are  the  questions  men  will  ask ; 
To  answer  them  their  hopeless  task. 
And  if  we  live  not,  if  this  life 
Below  be  all,  Avhy  the  hard  strife  ? 
Why  toil  and  strain,  with  eager  eye, 
Toward  the  infinite  starry  sky  ? 
There  is  no  heaven,  some  idle  dream 
Of  former  time,  when  great  men  seem 
(?6) 


2/ 

To  have  lived  forever,  in  a  land 

That  sank,  long  ages  past,  in  sand 

And  ocean,  while  the  tale  remained 

Of  all  the  wonders  that  its  shores  contained. 


II. 

O  ye  mighty  and  wise  men  of  Science, 

We  kneel  to  you  humbly  and  pray  : 

Ye  now  are  our  only  reliance, 

Since  God  ye  have  taken  away. 

Ye  have  taken  the  faith  of  childhood, 

Ye  have  broken  the  stay  of  years, 

The  hope  of  the  Future  we  cherished, 

And  left  us  despair  and  our  tears. 

So  now,  since  Jehovah  has  perished, 

And  his  Son,  the  dear  Saviour,  is  dead, 

And  gone  is  the  fond  hope  we  cherished, 

And  peace  and  quiet  are  fled, 

Here  we  worship  before  yon,  in  sorrow; 

Ye  only  are  left  to  our  race. 

Give  sign  !  Where  go  we  to-morrow  ? 

Whence  came  we  ?  we  ask  of  your  grace. 

And  to  you,  great  Power  Herbert  Spencer, 

And  to  Darwin,  we  humbly  pray, 

Tell  what  lies  before  in  the  future, 

What  comes  at  the  close  of  our  day  ? 

All  is  myth,  evolution,  and  science ; 

No  hope,  faith,  patience,  or  love, 

No  beneath,  save  the  earth  we  must  lie  in, 

No  chance  for  heaven  above. 

Our  fables  have  vanished,  and  children 


28 


No  longer,  we  gaze  undismayed  ; 
Why  rear  any  temple  or  altar  ; 
Do  ye  wish  it,  ye  mighty  and  staid  ? 
Serene  is  your  far-reaching  science, 
Ye  are  calm  and  faultless  and  proud, 
But  ye  take  from  us  every  reliance, 
And  leave  us — a  grave  and  a  shroud. 


III. 

To  Matthew  Arnold,  teacher  great, 
Torn  from  this  earth  by  cruel  fate. 
To  Matthew  Arnold,  he  who  knew 
The  way  the  name  of  God  first  grew  ; 
To  Spencer,  to  them  all  we  cry, 
Show  us  the  way,  or  we  shall  die. 
We  thought  we  knew,  we  fancied,  too, 
The  way  was  plain,  the  knowledge  true. 
Beyond  the  earth,  beyond  the  sky, 
The  blessed  realms  of  heaven  did  lie. 
Thro'  life,  with  faith  and  hope,  we  strove 
To  live  obedient  to  the  Love 
Who  came  from  heaven  to  earth,  to  save, 
And  gained  a  victory  o'er  the  grave. 
And  when  our  span  of  life  was  o'er 
We  looked  to  Him,  and  feared  no  more. 
Our  little  ones,  they  lived  and  died  ; 
Our  loved  ones  went,  we  only  cried : 
Take  them  to  Thee,  and  safely  keep, 
Till  we  into  Thy  shelter  creep. 
There  was  no  night ;  the  future  bright 
Shone  on  our  lives  with  endless  light. 


29 

This  was  the  goal  we  strove  to  reach, 

When  ye  our  minds  began  to  teach. 

And  now,  no  more  our  prayers  ascend, 

No  more  with  them  our  praises  blend. 

There  is  no  God,  or,  if  there  be, 

A  "Power  for  Righteousness  "  is  He  ; 

No  Person,  tangible,  and  real, 

To  watch  our  struggles,  for  us  feel, 

But  a  remote  and  awful  Power 

That  works  by  clock-work,  hour  by  hour. 

Ye  are  our  Prophets,  Teachers,  Kings, 

Who  find  out  all  we  know  of  things. 

Therefore  to  you  we  humbly  pray, 

Be  ye  our  Gods  and  with  us  stay. 

But,  Oh  !  to  be  as  once  we  were, 

To  feel  as  little  children  feel, 

To  read  the  sacred  words  once  more, 

And  at  His  footstool  humbly  kneel. 

We  cannot,  for  the  void  above 

Is  empty,  and  our  words  are  lost, 

Gone  from  us  is  Almighty  Love, 

And  we  are  wrecked  and  passion-tossed. 

IV. 

We  need  no  churches,  altars  none, 
For  ye  are  men  of  simple  mind  ; 
But  since  we  rest  on  you  alone, 
Say,  are  ye  aught  for  them  inclined  ? 
For  ye  have  burst  the  chains  of  years, 
Have  shown  us  all  our  futile  hopes, 
And  how  unreasoning  were  our  fears, 


3Q 


And  our  religions,  rotten  ropes. 
And  when  we  die,  we  will  not  go 
To  join  the  ones  we  loved  and  lost, 
Nor  bliss  will  enter,  nor  to  woe 
By  a  malignant  power  be  tossed, 
But,  by  the  Mighty  Chemic  Powers, 
Into  the  gases  whence  we  sprung 
Will  we  dissolve,  with  passing  hours, 
When  once  the  solemn  peal  has  rung. 

V. 

So  will  we  cherish  you,  as  though 
Ye  were  the  Gods  ye  overthrew. 
So  will  we  bow  in  reverence  low 
And  render  homage,  as  your  due. 
For  ye  have  freed  our  minds  from  chains, 
Have  stripped  us  of  an  idle  faith ; 
What  matter  if  despair  remains, 
And  for  our  comfort  naught  he  saith. 
We  know  we  know  not,  blessed  thought ; 
We  know  that  this  is  all  we  know. 
No  God  descended,  for  us  wrought, 
And  burst  the  bonds  that  held  us  low. 
There  may  be,  this  we  know,  for  you 
Have  told  us  so,  and  we  can  see, 
There  is  a  Power — this  much  is  true  — 
That  works  for  good  ;  but  if  there  be 
Such  power,  it  is  remote  and  free, 
Working  afar  and  silently. 


3i 


VI. 


Hark,  the  wail  of  poor  humanity, 
Life  once  was,  now  Faith  is,  vanity ; 
Nor  below,  nor  far  up  reaching, 
Find  we  God,  although  beseeching. 

VII. 

As  once,  in  lonely  garden, 

In  chill  of  early  morning, 

The  words  of  one  heart-broken, 

With  agony  torn  and  sorrow, 

So  now  we  cry  them ;  no  pardon 

For  us  in  distance  is  dawning, 

No  loved  face  smiles  for  a  token, 

Nor  hope  from  it  may  we  borrow  ; 

Ye  have  taken  away  our  Lord, 

And  we  know  not  where  ye  have  laid  Him 

Ye  have  slain  our  Love  with  the  sword, 

Like  Judas — ye,  too,  have  betrayed  Him. 

No  longer  we  pray  at  eve, 

When  stars  above  are  shining  ; 

No  longer  we  hope  to  receive, 

In  the  morn,  what  we  asked  reclining  ; 

No  longer  we  lay  with  tears, 

Loved  ones  away  for  sleeping ; 

Free  from  sorrow  and  fears, 

Safe  in  God's  merciful  keeping, 

But — dust  unto  dust — all  is  over, 

Blow  winds  and  ye  tempests  rage  on, 


32 

The  loved  one  is  lost  to  his  lover 
Forever,  and  science  has  won. 

Science  has  won,  yet  hearts  are  lamenting. 
Science  has  won,  yet  Death  triumphs  chill. 
Reason  to  science  is  ever  consenting, 
But  heart  cries  to  heart,  in  its  agony,  still. 


"  MY  KINGDOM  IS  NOT  OF  THIS  WORLD." 

Not  in  the  world  my  kingdom  lies, 
Nor  march  my  followers  to  its  war, 

Nor  trumpets  sound,  nor  banner  flies, 
Though  wars  we  wage  and  soldiers  are ; 


Not  in  the  world  you  see  without, 
But  in  the  hidden  world  within 

I  conquer  realms  of  sin  and  doubt, 
And  there  my  victories  I  win. 

For  souls  I  fight,  for  hearts  I  strive, 
And  love,  the  weapon  in  my  hand, 

With  it  the  foeman  far  I  drive, 

And  conquer  back  my  heavenly  land. 


(3'j^ 


THE  CHURCH  AND  THE  CHEMIST. 

Can  the  Church  and  the  Chemist  agree  ? 
Can  the  Saint  and  the  world ; 
For  Science  and  Faith 

Is  there  still  neutral  ground 

Anywhere  to  be  found  ? 

Like  atoms  in  the  molecule 
The  giddy  stars  on  high  are  set ; 
The  atoms  vibrate  to  and  fro, 
And  they  may  scintillate  and  glow, 
For  all  we  know  as  yet. 

The  complex  forms  we  dream  about, 
In  deeper  chemic  dreams  to-day, 

To-morrow  may  be  realized, 
They  may  not,  yet  they  may. 

The  atoms  in  the  molecule 

Are  small  and  great, 

Have  little  weight, 
And  little  size,  and  never  meet, 
But  circle  round  with  motion  fleet, 

So  many  to  a  pound. 

So  worlds  and  sun 
Their  orbits  run, 
Above  us  in  the  ebon  sky ; 

'34) 


35 


Just  as  the  atoms,  here  below, 

Around  companion  atoms  fly, 
In  circles  round  and  round. 

The  little  thing  is  only  small 
When  something  greater  is  above. 
The  great  suns  whirling  upon  high 

With  their  attendant  worlds  may  be 
But,  in  the  eye  of  mighty  love, 

A  task  in  some  vast  chemistry. 

So  small  to  Him,  so  tiny  they, 
These  masses  that  we  mighty  call, 

That  they  might  be  but  specks  of  clay 
Upon  his  footstool,  that  is  all. 

And  atoms  in  a  tiny  grain 
Of  some  long-time  discovered  salt 
May  covered  be  with  land  and  main, 
And  domed  about  with  starry  vault, 

And  peopled,  too,  with  man  and  beast, 
And  covered  o'er  with  cities  vast, 

For  nothing  to  His  eye  is  least, 
Nor  future,  nor  is  any  past, 

But  in  eternal  Present,  He 

Controls  the  things  that  ever  be. 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  DOUBT. 

If  we  could  only  know,  in  depth  and  height, 
The  new-won  wisdom  of  the  age,  yet  keep 

All  the  fond  imagery  of  the  Eld  from  blight, 
Men  would  not  falter,  women  need  not  weep. 

But  both  together  cannot  hold  the  mind ; 

Reason  and  folly — truth  and  fable  old  ; 
God  may  not  be  within  the  whistling  wind, 

Yet  in  the  silence  may  His  will  be  told. 

So  round  the  world  we  peer,  its  nooks  explore ; 

Up  to  the  great  blue  arch  He  built  above : 
Down  in  the  depths,  interrogating  Power 

With  the  one  question,  "Art  thou  God  and  Love  ?" 

We  sweep  the  sky  and  dig  the  earth  below, 

For  seeking  is  the  Spirit  of  the  Age; 
Back  to  the  origin  of  things  we  go, 

Deep  into  history,  far  beyond  its  page  ; 

And  as  we  find,  and  as  we  gain  some  ground, 
Whence  we  may  overlook  the  world  we  know, 

How  many  fond  beliefs  die  without  sound, 
But  leave  us  grim  despair  in  overthrow. 

But  there  is  no  alternative — no  more 
The  stories  old  can  charm  the  listeners  all ; 

We  have  plucked  down,  from  life's  bright  river-shore, 
The  fruit  of  knowledge,  and  its  taste  is  gall. 

(36) 


37 

If,  like  a  man  suspected,  we  could  bring, 
Before  the  august  bar  of  some  high  court 

All  the  Religions  of  the  earth  and  cling 
To  its  decision,  as  with  justice  fraught ; 

If  we  could  hear  its  sentence,  and  could  rest 
Sure  in  its  verdict,  happy  then  were  we ; 

Till  then  we  never  can  be  wholly  blest, 
Plunged  day  by  day  in  worse  perplexity. 

For  science  finds  so  many  fatal  flaws 

In  all  we  thought  most  perfect,  that  we  dread 

Even  her  light,  and  listen  to  her  laws 
In  terror,  while  our  old  beliefs  are  dead. 

For  to  the  soul  she  shows  an  endless  Chance, 
In  which  we  live,  the  sport  of  warring  powers, 

Dodging  among  mad  devils,  as  they  dance 
Over  the  bodies  we  can  scarce  call  ours. 

The  sport  of  Circumstance,  the  play  of  Fate, 
Prey  of  the  stronger,  doomed  to  fall  and  die, 

And  after  death,  untimely,  or  too  late, 
In  the  dark  earth  we  perish  where  we  lie. 

No  hope  beyond,  no  perfect  scheme  of  life, 
Made  for  our  progress  to  some  happier  world  ; 

But  these  mad  moments  of  perpetual  strife, 
And  then  into  blank  nothingness  we're  hurled. 

But  Science  grows :  she  yet  is  but  a  child 
In  her  strong  youth,  destroying  as  she  plays  ; 

As  years  increase,  she  may  with  age  grow  mild, 
And  gain  more  tenderness  with  many  days ; 


38 

May  spare  the  troubled  heart,  may  even  give 
Hope  to  the  hopeless,  that  at  last  they'll  find 

Where  all  seems  chaos,  there  is  place  to  live, 
And  God  "unknowable,"  not  all  unkind. 


THE  CRY  OF  THE  HOPELESS. 

The  world,  awake  to  brighter  day, 
Its  grand  assize  is  holding  high, 

And  mighty  trumpeters  give  bray 
And  summon  forth  each  ancient  lie ; 

And  as  before  the  bar  they  stand, 

In  sight  of  that  assembly  grand, 
The  outcast  world,  the  poor  who  lie 
Unheeded,  or  in  suffering  die, 

The  millions  who  no  pleasure  know, 

But  old  with  toil  in  childhood  grow, 
Who  see  no  blessed  fields,  nor  look 
On  limpid  stream  or  running  brook, 

To  whom  the  trees,  the  birds,  the  flowers, 

Are  memories  of  rarest  hours, 

Lift  up  their  hands  and  justice  crave, 
And  mercy,  for  the  toiling  slave ; 

For  something  of  the  life  they  see 

The  favored  few  live  happily. 

"Give  us,"  they  cry,  "before  we  die, 
Some  of  the  things  we  earn  for  you, 
If  you  are  honest,  good  and  true, 

Nor  put  us  off  with  pious  fraud, 

About  the  poor  being  blest  by  God. 
For  we  can  see  with  our  own  eyes 
Upon  the  rich — His  blessing  lies  ; 

And  you  have  taught,  as  known  and  true, 

Things  that  were  only  guessed  by  you ; 

(39) 


40 


And  you  have  held  o'er  us  the  rod, 

As  sole  proprietors  of  God  ; 
Have  sworn  that  every  word  of  His 
Is  only  what  you  say  it  is  ; 

And  that  the  book,  you  tightly  hold, 

Was  by  his  fingers  writ  of  old. 
And,  when  we  ventured  to  inquire, 
You  doomed  us  to  his  hell  of  fire. 

Against  this  God,  that  you  have  made, 

And  men  like  you,  we  stand  arrayed. 
Up  to  the  God  of  truth  and  right 
We  cry,  'Avenge  us  in  Thy  Might '  ! 

We  cry  for  justice  to  the  sky, 
We  cry  for  mercy  to  the  sun, 

Whose  beams  of  light  unequal  lie, 
Whose  course  is  so  unfairly  run, 

O  God  of  Love !  didst  thou  ordain 

These  lives  of  hopelessness  and  pain  ? 
Oh,  God  of  power,  dost  thou  allow 
This  anguish,  upon  every  brow  ? 

O  God  of  purity  and  peace, 

Can'st  thou  for  us  show  no  release  ? 
And  to  our  happier  brothers,  you, 
Who  bitter  penury  never  knew, 

We  lift  our  cry,  with  all  our  might, 

For  we  are  creatures  of  the  night 
That  you  may  bask  in  gladsome  day ; 

We  shiver  in  our  rags,  that  you 
With  fire  may  make  your  sport  and  play; 
We  must  be  starved,  one  soul  in  ten, 

That  ye,  the  noble  nine,  may  thrive ; 
Go  down  to  death  in  sin  and  pain, 


4i 

That  ye  may  pass  bright  days  alive. 
We  must  to  war,  that  you  in  peace 
Your  homes,  ours  gone,  may  safe  possess, 

While  ye  are  they,  who  ever  say, 

We  practise  Christianity. 
'Resist  not'  nor  do  ye  resist, 
We  do  it  for  you,  fight  your  wars  ; 
'  Be  peaceable,'  count  not  our  scars  ; 

'Be  honest,'  while  ye  rob  our  toil 

And  tear  from  us  our  native  soil ; 
'  Be  chaste,'  ye  are  perhaps,  but  see 

Our  troop  which  wanders  thro'  the  night, 
Of  all  the  fairest  ones  there  be, 

The  children  of  our  heart's  delight. 
O  Heart  Divine,  whom  ye  misjudge, 
Whose  words  ye  make  an  idle  tale, 

Hark  to  our  bleeding  heart's  sad  plaint, 

When  weak  with  toil,  with  hunger  faint. 
Down  in  the  dust  we  lie,  that  ye  may  tread 

Daintily  o'er  our  bodies,  lest  the  soil 
Of  the  earth's  mire  should  touch  you,  and  you  dread 

To  stain  your  finger-tips  with  honest  toil." 

Can  hope  be  a  kind  of  despair  ? 

Can  war  be  mistaken  for  peace  ? 
Heaven  bring  us  sorrow  and  care, 

And  Hell  grant  us  happy  release  ? 

Can  belief  in  a  lie  be  the  truth  ? 

Can  a  world  of  madness  be  love  ? 
Carnage  be  kindness  and  blood, 

A  merciful  shower  from  above  ? 


"NOT  A  SPARROW  FALLS." 

O  sparrow,  tiny  bird, 
How  often  have  we  heard 

That  you  fall  not  to  the  stony  ground  and  die, 
Unless  it  be  His  will, 
Who  the  universe  doth  fill, 

And  you  perish  underneath  His  loving  eye. 

0  sparrows,  must  ye  fall  ? 

1  hear  at  dawn  your  call, 

Chattering  early  in  the  matted  ivy  leaves  ; 
Beneath  the  Father's  eye 
Must  ye,  must  ye,  ever  die  ? 

And  can  we  think  He  sees,  and  never  grieves  ? 

How  could  He  let  you  die ! 
How  hear  your  faint,  sweet  cry 

And  never  try  to  save  you  and  your  song ; 
Perhaps  His  arm  is  weak, 
If  so,  then  let  Him  speak, 

For  God  the  Mighty  Father  should  be  strong. 

O  sparrows,  when  ye  fall 
Will  ye  despairing  call, 

And  blame  the  Father  and  his  useless  care, 
For  knowing  danger  came, 
Can  He  escape  all  blame, 

When  ye  perished,  in  your  feathered  beauty  rare. 


(42) 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  DOUBT. 


Ye  teachers  of  religions  lost,  and  those 

Whose  fanes  still  flourish  on  the  patient  earth, 

Ye  are  but  parts  of  an  eternal  whole 

That  reaches  from  the  lowest  depths,  to  God. 

Nor  can  ye  dare  assume  that  His  high  throne 

Ye  yet  have  reached,  or  found  his  dwelling-place. 

But  as  ye  are,  so  have  ye  slowly  grown 

Up  from  the  soil ;  nor  can  ye  boast  and  say, 

We  are  divine,  and  you,  poor  mortal  men, 

Are  but  the  fleeting  product  of  a  day. 

For  as  man  grew,  ye,  with  him,  also  grew, 

Much  to  his  sorrow  in  the  ancient  days. 

And  many  men  ye  sent  from  life,  afar, 

To  wander  aimless  in  some  dark  beyond. 

Nor  can  man  cry  and  blame  you,  overmuch ; 

For  his  the  hand  that  fashioned  all  his  gods. 

If  he  were  cruel,  ye  more  cruel  were ; 

If  he  were  gentle,  ye  were  mild  and  kind. 

Each  grew  with  each,  together,  hand  in  hand, 

And  withered  side  by  side,  when  greater  gods 

And  stronger  peoples  swept  you  both  away. 

For  struggle  is  the  law  of  every  life, 

And  war,  and  death  ;  and  few  survive  the  strife. 

But  the  survivors  prove  that  nature  knew 

How  to  strike  down  the  false  and  save  the  true. 

And  Evolution  is  the  impress  on  the  world 

(43) 


44 

Of  all  its  Maker  willed  it  to  become. 

And  though  the  ages  move  but  slowly  on, 

And  many  thousand  years  must  come  and  go, 

Ere  to  the  making  of  a  man  they  bring 

Their  powers  to  full  perfection,  yet  to  Him, 

Who  by  His  fiat  started  all  the  scheme, 

They  may  be  moments.     Are  they  slow  indeed, 

Yet  who  would  wish  them  faster ;  who  has  cried 

That  his  life-span  be  shortened  ;  how  have  all 

Mourned  our  brief  days  ;  and  if  perhaps  a  wretch, 

Hurried  to  death  by  fellow  wretches,  chanced 

Once  in  a  year — one  in  a  million  men, 

To  rail  at  nature,  and  to  wish  that  death 

Could  but  come  speedily,  a  thousand  more 

Beg  for  their  lives,  and  pray  for  longer  days. 

And  yet,  maybe,  in  ages  now  to  come, 

When  the  fierce  light  of  knowledge  blasts  our  hopes 

We  all  may  cringe  and  cry  to  unheeding  heaven 

For  death  the  longed-for  and  the  cure  of  ills. 

For  now  despair  seems  stirring  in  its  cave  ; 

And  putting  forth  its  arms  from  its  grim  lair, 

And  drawing  in  its  hopeless,  dread  embrace 

The  brighest  and  the  bravest  men  who  live. 

They  pray  not,  for  they  know  no  ear  can  hear ; 

They  curse  not,  for  they  know  no  God  will  care  ; 

They  die  not ;  for  a  certain  stolid  heart, 

Not  faint,  but  angry,  urges  them  to  live, 

Till  their  life's  span  be  over  :  then  will  all 

Fade  from  their  vision — and  their  sleep  begin, 

To  pass  thro'  time  eternal.     We  have  found, 

Fiercely  they  cry,  the  honest  laws  of  life ; 

And  we  have  formed  the  moral  code  we  keep, 


45 

Worked  out  from  nothing — or  from  basest  source, 
To  this  the  highest.     Let  us  live  our  life, 
Keep  the  road  won  thro'  myriad  toiling  years, 
Live  to  the  end,  and  suffer  while  we  live, 
And  throw  our  lives  at  last,  as  a  great  taunt, 
Into  the  face  of  Him  who  made  us  low, 
Kept  us  crushed  down,  nor  deigned  to  lift  a  hand, 
When  all  our  struggles  and  our  falls  He  saw. 


THE  WEED  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

Ye  teachers  of  the  wisdom  of  the  world, 
High  priests  of  science,  nearer  God  than  we, 
Whose  temple  is  the  arch  above  us  all, 
The  earth  below — the  many-storied  rocks  ; 
Who  search  into  the  infinite  distant  light, 
And  sent  your  throbbing  thought  along  its  ray  ; 
To  whom  the  history  of  the  teeming  race, 
To  which  ye,  too,  belong,  is  known  and  read, 
Till  all  the  weakness  of  mankind  ye  know  ; 
Tell  men  your  judgment,  let  them  see 
From  whence  their  fond  beliefs  have  sprung, 
With  all  the  creeds  to  which  they  cling 
And  which  for  ages  they  have  died  to  save. 
How  in  the  dunghills  of  the  past 
The  flower  grew,  they  hold  so  fast. 
As  first  it  came,  a  simple  weed, 
Springing  to  light  from  unknown  seed. 
How  man  no  better  found,  and  so, 
He  watered  it  and  made  it  grow. 
Then  as  a  gardener,  with  his  care, 
He  taught  its  tendrils  how  to  dare. 
Trained  them  aloft,  as  ever  they 
Toward  the  sun  threw  out  their  spray. 

They  flowered,  but  not  the  flower  we  know, 
That  in  perfection  seems  to  glow ; 
Their  flowers,  for  ages,  seemed  to  be 
Things  scentless,  shaped  hideously  ; 
(46) 


47 

Or  sending  forth  a  poisonous  breath, 

That  spread  an  atmosphere  of  death. 
But,  age  by  age,  they  bloomed  and  blew, 
As  still  the  gardener's  care  they  knew, 

And  grew  to  be  more  choice  than  gold, 

Till  they  repaid  him  thousand-fold. 
Oh,  fair  Religion,  man's  choice  flower, 

Whose  buds  he  tended  long  ago, 
Now  underneath  thy  leafy  bower 

He  from  the  heat,  for  shade,  may  go. 
There  may  he  rest  from  burning  rays, 
There  may  he  pass  his  peaceful  days, 

And  gaze  up  to  thy  glowing  bloom 

Thro'  life,  and  in  his  hour  of  doom. 

Whence  came  the  weed  ?  whence  came  the  flower  ? 
Grown  now  to  be  a  mighty  power; 

And  whence  the  wisdom  of  our  race, 

To  water  it  and  guard  its  place  ? 
And  whence  the  impulse  strange,  that  strove 
In  it,  to  reach  the  sun,  its  love  ? 


THE  HOPE  THAT  SCIENCE   LEAVES. 

Hope  thou,  faint  heart,  for  better  days  to  come, 
For  some  bright  sun  to  light  to-morrow's  East, 
For,  watching  thro'  the  night  we  joy  to  see 
The  clouds,  low-lying,  tinged  with  rose  at  last. 
Hope  yet,  faint  heart,  for  dawn  is  coming  fast, 
And  man  regards  each  day  with  tenderer  care, 
The  rights  of  all  creation — save  his  own 
As  he  stands  lone — unaided  but  as  he 
Receives  from  others  as  to  them  he  gives, 
And  gains  life  from  the  world's  humanity. 
No  dwellers  on  some  lonely  star  are  we, 
Lost  and  forgotten  in  a  boundless  sky, 
But  parts  of  one  vast  whole,  whose  rare  design 
Embraces  all  the  web  that  holds  the  stars, 
And  all  the  interwoven  rays  that  shine 
From  constellations ;  in  its  tapestry, 
Whereon  men  thought  their  foolish  eyes  could  see 
Figures  gigantic,  traced  by  ancient  seer, 
Or  guessed  by  him  from  tracings  of  a  hand 
Greater  than  man's,  but  guardian  of  his  lot, 
Watchful,  but  unrelenting — for  the  stars, 
Rising  and  falling  thro'  the  tired  hours, 
Only,  for  him,  foretold  unerring  fate, 
And  made  his  life  the  sport  and  play  of  heaven. 
But  to  the  eye  that  gazes  up,  to-day, 
No  fate  spells  out  the  legend  of  our  lives, 
But  in  the  distant  star-dust,  galaxy, 
And  constellations  with  mysterious  names, 

(48) 


49 

We  see  the  signs  of  empire — stretching  far — 

Ruled  by  the  One  who  ordered  all  its  ways  ; 

And  from  our  world,  ourselves,  our  little  lives, 

Tracing  up  step  by  step,  we  climb  aloft, 

Till  on  the  pinnacle  of  earth  we  stand 

And  gaze  still  to  the  azure.     Then  we  see 

The  spiral  stairs  ascending,  round  on  round, 

We  on  the  lowest — God  above  them  all ; 

And  many  myriad  steps  'twixt  Him  and  us; 

Till  with  the  hope  we  flush,  and  strain  each  limb 

Upward,  while  hours  and  minutes  bide  our  will, 

Upward  to  that  last  step,  the  last  we  know, 

And  then — in  faith — we  take  the  step  beyond  ; 

Faith  based  on  knowledge  of  our  world  below, 

Faith,  fired  by  study  of  the  stars  above, 

Faith  that  the  dark  we  enter  when  we  die 

May  be  as  noonday  to  our  night  of  life. 

For  without  faith  we  lead  but  cheerless  lives, 

And  without  hope  death's  coming  chills  our  blood ; 

And  without  hope  we  care  not  if  the  day 

Rise  for  us  ever  on  another  morn. 

Hope  thou,  faint  heart,  He  has  not  thee  forgot, 

Who  keeps  the  stars  in  everlasting  round. 

Hope  on  for  He,  the  mighty  one  who  cares 

That  flowers  should  bloom,  and  rainbow  shed  its  glow, 

And  beauty  strew  the  world,  where  He  alone 

Can  see  it,  springing  through  the  arid  day, 

Though  He  may  seem  thy  love  to  overlook, 

Stores  it  as  precious  in  his  heart  of  hearts. 

For  not  by  chance  came  earth  and  living  things, 

And  not  by  chance  evolve  they  up  to  man, 

And  not  by  chance  does  man  forever  make 

4 


50 

Something  beyond  himself,  to  which  to  cling ; 

These  are  but  steps,  all  upward  circling  long 

In  mighty  curves,  whose  fulness  none  can  see ; 

But  only,  here  and  there,  catch  glimpes  rare 

Thro'  the  vast  space  that  makes  eternity. 

Nor  hath  man  seen  the  God  above  the  All, 

Nor  has  he  ever  gazed  upon  His  face, 

Nor  knows  he  where  He  has  His  high  abode, 

But  somewhere — not  on  earth — is  His  great  throne; 

And  if  we  cling,  and  if  we  climb  aloft, 

And  if  we  mount  the  ever-circling  rounds, 

Feeling  each  step  the  only  certain  thing, 

But  ever  climbing  higher  still  in  hope, 

We  must,  tho'  years  be  endless,  sometime  come, 

In  some  blest  hour,  somewhere,  that's  nearer  Him 

Who  planted  in  our  hearts  the  wish  to  climb, 

As  climbs  the  tendril  to  the  sun  it  loves. 


THE  UNHEEDED  VOICE. 

Ye  men  of  earth  are  older  than  its  soil, 

Albeit  ye  were  made  of  common  clay. 

For  long  before  the  mountains  proudly  rose, 

Or  hills  were  formed,  life  was,  and  ye  are  life. 

We  see  your  faces  now,  and  as  ye  were 

In  the  long  seasons,  when  ye  bloomed  and  died. 

For  in  the  ages  since  God  planted  you, 

Like  flowers  in  the  garden  of  His  world, 

Ye  have  grown  up,  have  withered  low,  and  died 

Ten  thousand  times,  yet  still  ye  spring  and  grow. 

For  man  is  born  to  die,  and  dies  to  be 

Born  in  the  fields,  he  one  time  knew,  again  ; 

And  tho'  the  fields  may  hold  remembrance  dumb, 

He  knows  it  not,  nor  ever  doth  recall 

The  plains  familiar,  and  the  rocks  and  seas. 

Yet  will  there  come,  like  scented  summer  air, 

In  moments  rare,  the  thought  that  oft  before, 

Over  the  stony  road,  or  up  the  crag, 

Or  by  the  lonely  sea  he  journeyed  once, 

In  days  uncalendered  and  times  unknown ; 

Or  in  his  heart  the  strains  of  music  soft 

Will  stir  a  memory,  which  remembers  not ; 

So  faint,  so  dear,  so  alien  from  to-day, 

That,  like  the  breath  it  is  of  other  times, 

He  fancies  it  but  dreaming,  and  he  smiles; 

While  all  the  while  'tis  but  the  language  faint, 

Thoughts  without  words,  by  which  the  field  and  wood, 

(50 


52 

The  scent  of  flowers,  the  strains  of  bygone  song, 
Strive  but  to  tell  him  how  they've  missed  him  long, 
And  claim  him  brother  from  forgotten  years. 
But  he  can  never  know ;  has  he  not  drained 
Ere  he  was  born,  the  waters  of  that  stream 
Whose  name  is  Lethe  and  whose  wave  is  life  ? 
But  death  will  bring  remembrance;  then  will  all 
Crowd  on  his  thought  and  fill  his  soul  with  dread. 
Lives  upon  lives,  gone  and  forgotten  long; 
Filled  full  with  action ;  lives  in  which  he  lived 
Ringed  round  with  friends ;  was  chief  or  king  or  slave  ; 
Fought  in  fierce  wars,  or  swept  the  heaving  main ; 
Ravaged  fair  cities  ;   steeped  his  hands  in  blood  ; 
Clutched  all  earth's  treasure;  lived  in  penury; 
Loved  bright-eyed  women — died  perchance  for  love  ; 
Fierce  for  religion,  swept  the  doubters  down, 
Showing  no  mercy,  asking  none  from  man ; 
Prayed  to  high  heaven,  or  to  some  graven  stone 
Worked  till  life  ended — lived  a  toilless  life; 
Was  good  or  evil,  mad,  or  mildly  kind ; 
Then  he  remembers,  then  the  lesson  burns, 
Till  thought  can  bear  no  longer,  and  he  falls 
Prone  on  the  unstable  elements  and  begs, 
Begs,  with  no  tears,  for  tears  no  longer  flow, 
But  to  return  and  live  out  wiser  days, 
Only  to  live,  and  right  the  wrong  he  wrought ; 
Only  to  live,  that  he  may  die  for  truth. 
Only  to  live,  though  poverty  and  scorn 
Rise  with  him  waking,  lie  by  him  at  night ; 
Till  heaven  itself  is  weary  of  his  prayer, 
And  very  God  is  touched  to  hear  his  plaint, 
And  to  the  river  leads  him,  and  he  drinks, 


53 

And  no  more  then  remembers  ;  but  there  still 
Broods  o'er  his  soul,  now  infant  though  it  be, 
Gleams  of  his  former  state,  his  wish  to  live 
Better  and  truer  to  the  standard  high 
That  death  had  shown  him ;  purer  then  is  he 
Than  in  the  future,  when  the  voice  of  man 
Rudely  confronts  him,  binds  him  to  its  will ; 
But  he  is  better;  slowly  doth  he  grow, 
Each  life  the  nearer,  till  at  last  he  comes 
Into  the  very  heaven  and  proudly  claims 
That  he  has  conquered  by  the  scars  he  shows. 


JUDGE  NOT. 

Judge  not,  nor  then  shall  ye 
Unfairly  judged  be. 
Judge  not,  for  man  cannot, 

With  eyes  imperfect,  see 
The  page  beneath  the  blot, 

Shining  in  purity. 

Judge  not.     So  shall  ye  gain 
The  love  of  all ;  nor  pain, 
Which  from  injustice  springs, 

Shall  ever  know ; 
For  ignorance  still  clings 

To  judgment,  here  below. 

But  there — when  time  is  past, 
When  we  are  free  at  last, 
Then,  no  more  need  we  say, 

"Life  is  unfair,"  for  we, 
In  that  unclouded  day, 

Its  purpose  grand  will  see. 


(54) 


A  MARTYR. 

He  held  within  his  hand  a  shining  stone, 
Perchance  a  diamond,  or  some  jewel  rare, 

Which  he  had  found,  and  'twas  for  him  alone 
To  show  its  beauty  and  its  worth  declare. 

And  as  he  gazed  on  it,  a  rainbow  ray- 
Came  o'er  his  face,  in  gloried  halo  thrown ; 

And  all  who  met  him,  as  he  went  his  way, 
Hated  him  for  the  light  that  on  him  shone, 

And  cried  "this  is  no  jewel,  has  no  price, 
Is  but  a  gaud,  a  false,  tho'  shining  stone," 

Offered  him  condolence  and  sage  advice, 
Till  muttering  passion  swelled  in  undertone. 

And  then  they  seized  him;    dragged  him  down  to 
death, 

All  unresisting,  but  declaiming  high 
All  its  rich  virtues,  till  his  wasted  breath 

Failed  him,  and  there  in  death  they  let  him  lie, 

Still  holding  in  his  grasp  his  jewel  bright, 
That  o'er  his  blood-stained  face  a  glory  cast, 

While  in  the  busy  mart,  to  left  and  right 
The  buyers  hurried  on  and  smiling  passed. 


(55) 


OH,  RAPT  BELIEVER. 

O  rapt  believer  in  your  creed, 

A  thousand  mysteries  bar  your  way, 

A  thousand  doubts  besiege  your  rest, 
And  cloud  your  sun  throughout  the  day ; 

A  thousand  cries  break  on  your  night, 
When  rest  you  seek  from  life  and  fate ; 

And  still  they  cry,  O  doomed  to  die, 
Discover,  ere  it  be  too  late. 


(56) 


SIN. 

"God  permitteth  evil,"  murmur  men, 
He,  all  powerful,  might  sweep  away 
All  our  darkness  and  let  in  the  day, 

Driving  sin  and  sorrow  from  our  ken." 

Would  you  rob  heaven  of  its  Priests  and  Kings, 
Take  away  the  martyr's  shining  crown, 
Let  us  live  and  die  without  renown, 

Conquered  by,  or  conquering  little  things? 

But  for  sin  we  never  could  mount  up 
Past  the  sinless  angels  in  their  white, 
We,  in  earth-stained  robes — into  the  light, 

Crying  "We  have  drained  the  bitter  cup." 

What  the  chisel  is  to  marble  pure 
Sin  to  man  is ;  bringing  every  trace 
Of  the  Godlike  to  his  upturned  face, 

Through  the  endless  ages  to  endure. 


(57) 


TOLERATION. 

We  may  be  right,  they  may  be  wrong, 
Yet  let  us  some  forbearance  show, 

Not,  flushed  with  pride,  sweep  swift  along ; 
Nor  filled  with  fire  and  slaughter  go. 

And  if  perchance,  they  may  be  right, 
And  we  be  wrong, — Ah !  let  us  hear 

The  heavenly  voice,  and  see  the  light, 
Before  Damascus'  walls  appear, 

And  stricken  down  from  pride  to  earth, 

We,  too,  must  ask,  "What  wilt  Thou  have?' 

Lord  of  our  lives,  Lord  of  our  birth, 
As  Thou  hast  humbled,  Thou  must  save. 


(58) 


THE  HADES  OF  SCIENCE. 

Infants  die  with  a  cry, 
Men  live  on  in  distress, 
Thousands  strive  but  fail 
Ever  to  reach  success. 

Yet  'neath  the  struggle  of  life, 
Under  the  conflict,  we  know 
Lieth  a  deadlier  strife, 
Lurketh  an  endless  woe. 

Millions  swarm  at  the  gate 

That  opens  only  for  one, 

Millions  come  too  late 

And  fade  from  the  light  of  the  sun. 

Hell  is  the  struggle  of  soul 
To  enter  a  life  again, 
Far  away  is  the  goal 
Circled  with  death  and  pain. 

Ages  must  come  and  go, 
Aeons  must  wax  and  wane, 
Millions  of  tides  must  flow 
And  ebb  and  flow  again. 

Many  are  called  and  come, 
Many  strive  to  be  born, 
Many  despairing  roam, 
But  few  will  enter  the  morn. 


(59) 


NIRVANA. 

Mid  warring  elements  and  warring  men, 
Our  lives  uneasy  grow,  as  time  goes  by  ; 

Nor  see  we  hope  of  peace — not  even  then, 
When  with  our  fellows  in  the  earth  we  lie  ; 

For  wrangling  creeds  and  wrangling  science  tend 

To  make  us  pause  and  ask,  Where  is  the  end  ? 

Must  man's  bright  hope  go  down  before  the  blast  ? 

Must  he  surrender  all  he  loved  and  taught  ? 
Learn  that  the  truest  lesson  is  the  last, 

And  that  by  science  must  his  wars  be  fought  ? 
But  when  the  fight  is  over,  and  he  wins, 
He  only  falls,  in  victory,  crowned  with  sins. 

Where  then  is  peace  ?    Go  ask  the  eastern  sage 
Who  points  beyond  the  life  that  is,  and  says, 

Life,  here,  is  but  a  step  in  coming  age, 
And  after  death  come  many  weary  days  ; 

And  to  escape  that  fate,  for  you  so  dire, 

I  teach  you  to  Nirvana  to  aspire. 

What  is  Nirvana  ?  Perfect  peace  and  rest ! 

How  can  we  reach  it,  from  the  turmoil  here  ? 
Nirvana  must  be  sought  in  every  breast, 

By  holding  nothing  valued,  nothing  dear. 
If  ye  can  tear  your  hearts  away  from  life 
And  set  your  thoughts  beyond,  ye  win  the  strife. 

(60) 


6i 

For  man  returns  to  earth  from  base  desire  ; 

Longing  for  all  he  had  and  once  enjoyed. 
Thirst  is  the  foe  within,  the  secret  fire, 

That  ever  burns  us,  yet  is  ne'er  destroyed 
Seek  then  to  set  your  hearts  no  more  on  earth 
Or  earthly  things,  for  they  are  nothing  worth. 

Are  children  dear  ?  away  into  the  wild  ! 

Is  wife  beloved  ?  leave  her  and  away  ! 
For  love  of  parent,  brother,  wife  or  child 

Will,  from  Nirvana,  lead  your  heart  astray. 
Nor  will  it  easy  be  to  then  return, 
While  passions  waste,  and  fires  within  you  burn. 

Are  riches  and  the  prizes  of  the  world, 

Things  dear  and  daily  sought,  with  all  your  might 
Are  honors,  and  gay  banners  wide  unfurled, 

And  martial  music,  and  the  glorious  fight  ? 
Or  do  you  cling  to  learning  and  its  ways  ? 
Far  from  them  all  in  deserts  pass  your  days. 

Seek  the  right  path.     Be  honest,  just  and  true. 

Owe  no  man  anything,  but  ever  take 
From  every  man  who  offers,  as  your  due, 

The  food  to  nourish,  and  the  drink  to  slake  ; 
And  so,  no  tie  you  bind  upon  your  soul, 
But  on  the  path  you  march,  and  toward  the  goal. 

But  where  ?  not  here  below,  nor  up  above  ; 

But  everywhere,  we  all  may  enter  in. 
For  when  the  soul  is  filled  with  peace  and  love, 

Then  will  that  blessed  state  for  us  begin  ; 
And  in  Nirvana,  freed  from  every  care, 
We  enter,  and  are  lost  in  being  there. 


62 

Within  us  lies  the  kingdom  we  would  win  ; 

Within  us,  in  ourselves,  its  realm  we'll  find  ; 
Besieged  without  with  sorrow  and  with  sin, 

Yet  seek  we  elsewhere,  and  are  ever  blind. 
For  not  of  earth  my  kingdom  is,  He  said, 
But  lies  within  you.     Yet  His  words  are  dead. 

For  life  is  death,  in  language  of  the  seer ; 

And  death  to  life,  is  life  forevermore  ; 
Since  life  is  living  death,  and  only  here 

Are  we  like  swimmers,  struggling  for  the  shore. 
And  ever,  as  we  reach  the  margin  sure, 
The  waves  recede  and  we  once  more  endure. 

And  on  the  shore  is  hope  and  there  is  rest ; 

And  in  the  sea  is  change,  and  war  and  pain ; 
And  only  those  who  gain  the  marge  are  blest, 

And  curst  are  they  who  in  the  sea  remain. 
Life  is  the  sea  that  drives  us  where  it  will, 
With  none  to  cry  unto  it,  "  Peace,  be  still." 

"  Come  unto  me  and  I  will  give  you  rest ;" 

Nirvana,  blessed  rest,  in  God  alone. 
There  will  that  peace  pervade  the  tired  breast, 

That  passes  all  that  man  has  ever  known  ; 
That  passes  understanding,  and  the  deep 

And  subtle  wisdom  of  the  sons  of  men  ; 
And  it  forever,  in  itself,  will  keep 

Those  who  have  entered  in,  from  life  again. 
No  toil,  no  trouble,  and  no  life  they  know ; 
But  on  forever  in  its  light  they  grow. 


KARMA. 

Vast,  throbbing  life,  whose  palpitating  breath 
Begins  ere  ever  birth,  nor  stops  at  death, 
How  little  know  we,  peeping  here  and  there, 
Of  thy  great  laws,  how  little  do  we  care. 
For  men  go  on  their  way,  nor  question  ask, 
But  take  the  life  they  have  and  do  their  task. 

Surely  some  Genius  makes  us  but  his  play, 
Cares  not  for  man  who  in  the  heat  of  day 
Stands  up  for  right,  but  lets  his  torrid  sun 
Wither  his  life — whose  work  is  just  begun  ; 
Who  cares  not  for  defenders,  men  who  dare 
The  things  they  know  are  true,  boldly  declare. 

But  lets  the  world  crush  out  the  feeble  spark, 
Extends  no  helping  hand  to  lift  the  weak, 

Lets  the  bright  light  of  virtue  fade  to  dark, 
Is  vainly  oft  besought,  will  never  speak, 

Or,  ages  back,  spoke  with  uncertain  sound, 

When  time  and  distance  all  his  words  have  drowned. 

Is  God  unjust  as  man  is  ?  How  can  He 
Look  down  contented  on  the  things  that  be  ? 
Has  He  some  plan,  beyond  our  power  to  guess, 
By  which  life's  curses  altogether  bless  ? 
Can  He  see  justice  in  the  world  around, 
Filled  as  it  is  with  strife  and  murmuring  sound  ? 

(63) 


64 

Is  then  this  life  I  have  my  own,  my  all  ? 

Was  there  to  me  no  past,  while  still  I  call 
The  endless  future  mine  ?  Did  I  begin 
Here,  yesterday,  existence  steeped  in  sin  ? 

Or  have  I  lived  thro'  ages,  and  is  mine 

But  a  faint  ray  of  the  one  life  divine  ? 

Whence  came  I,  with  my  passions  and  my  fears, 
Into  this  life  that  lasts  a  few  brief  years  ? 
Do  I  remember,  in  the  misty  past, 
Another  life,  or  scores  before  the  last  ? 
What  was  I  called,  where  lived  I,  was  the  name 
I  bore  in  ages  gone  my  joy  or  shame  ? 

Tell  us,  O  God,  by  what  far-seeing  rule 
Thou  orderest  our  lives  ?  Is  this  Thy  school 

In  which  we  learn,  by  suffering,  what  to  do ; 

Where  punishment  comes  oft,  rewards  are  few; 
Or  must  we  look,  beyond  this  life,  to  see 
How  justice  and  Thy  way  with  man  agree. 

But  if  we  come  to  earth  a  sullied  page, 
If  we  were  old,  long  ere  our  present  age, 
If  we  have  lived  before,  and  carried  here 
The  faults  and  punishments  that  seem  so  drear, 
And  if  this  life  but  balanced  what  is  past, 
We  might  see  justice  in  Thy  world  at  last. 

Great  balance-wheel,  great  Pendulum  of  life, 
That  swings  from  care  to  ease,  from  rest  to  strife, 
From  bad  to  good,  from  poverty  to  wealth, 
From  fell  diseases  up  to  bounding  health, 


65 

As  thro'  the  cycles  of  our  lives  we  ride 
On  ever  rising,  ever  falling  tide. 

So  sin  we  on  and  suffer  for  our  sin ; 

So  strike  we  down,  and  fall  when  we  begin ; 

So  we  enjoy  and  grudge  the  rest  our  store ; 

So  we  lie  hungry  at  some  princely  door; 
So  as  we  do  to  others,  Thou  dost  give 
To  us,  reward  or  pain,  and  let  us  live. 


THE  ROSARY  OF  LIFE. 

Golden  bead  of  a  life  is  mine, 
Strung  on  the  thread  of  the  life  divine ; 
Many  have  been  and  more  will  be 
Ere  I  finish  the  chain  of  life's  rosary. 

Down  from  the  distant  years  I  come, 
To  claim  a  new  age,  friends  and  home  ; 
Thousands  of  years  perchance  have  flown, 
Since  life  and  its  pleasures  and  pains  I've  known. 

Was  it  in  Europe,  or  Asia  last, 

That  my  fourscore  years  or  less  were  passed  ? 

Was  it  afar  in  the  sunny  East, 

Where  pleasure  is  brightest  and  pain  is  least  ? 

Did  I  march  out  a  Crusader  bold, 
From  Germany,  France,  or  England  old  ; 
Was  I  a  Viking,  roaming  free, 
Ravaging  land  and  conquering  sea  ? 

Was  I  a  serf,  a  prince,  a  king  ? 

See  if  my  soul  does  to  greatness  cling ; 

Was  I  a  courtier,  was  I  slain 

By  children  who  hoped  my  wealth  to  gain  ? 

Memories  tell  not,  but  whisper  soft, 
How  I  have  trodden  these  pathways  oft ; 
Memories  that  linger  to  die  away, 
Like  blessed  dream  at  dawn  of  day. 
(66) 


67 


Who  were  with  me  in  life's  high  tide, 
Floating  along  on  the  wave  at  my  side  ? 
Who  were  they,  in  the  ebb,  that  fell 
Close  to  me,  down  with  me,  into  Hell  ? 

Did  they  rise  with  me  ?  Can  I  know  ? 
Feel  I  sometime  a  sudden  glow  ? 
But  can  I  claim  one  soul  as  mine, 
From  the  lost  ages,  by  right  divine  ? 

Do  I  shudder,  and  shrink  in  fear, 
When  a  stranger  approaches  near  ? 
Do  attractions,  repulsions,  tell 
Aught  of  what  ages  ago  befell  ? 

Do  the  sorrows  that  on  me  fall, 

Do  the  fates  that  unfair  I  call, 

Pay  me,  now  in  this  present  time, 

For  the  sins  committed  in  earlier  clime  ? 

O  ye  winds,  that  memories  bear, 
Tell  me  what  was  I,  and  what  ye  are ; 
Speak  more  loudly,  I  would  I  knew 
Where,  in  the  ages  gone,  I  grew  ? 

O  ye  glances  of  loving  eyes, 

0  fond  hearts  that  most  I  prize, 
Did  I  love  you,  in  ages  when 

1  lived  the  life  that's  beyond  my  ken  ? 

O  ye  thoughts  and  fancies  rare, 

O  ye  tresses  of  waving  hair, 

O  ye  visions  and  memories  fond, 

Are  ye  glimpses  true  of  some  lost  beyond  ? 


A  SUNSET  IDYL. 

I. 

A  crimson  globe  lies  in  the  West, 
Cradled  in  cloud — a  feathery  nest, 
If  wearied  sun  could  pause  and  rest. 

And  now  before  my  raptured  sight, 
Beyond  the  far-off  mountain  height, 
It  sinks  in  its  own  crimson  light. 

The  crimson  shades  to  orange  deep, 
Then  yellow  waves  in  silence  sweep 
To  where  the  emerald  aethers  sleep. 

Last  steals  the  blue,  so  soft,  so  light, 
'Tis  scarcely  blue,  yet  scarcely  white, 
To  meet  the  violet-grey  of  night. 


II. 

O  sea  of  crimson,  purple,  blue, 

If  only  I  might  sail  on  you, 

And  float  in  dreams  to  regions  new ! 

O  fairy  realms  by  man  untrod, 
Belonging  only  unto  God, 
All  undefiled  by  mortal  clod  ! 
(68) 


69 


Are  there  no  homes  in  yonder  land, 
Of  angel  brothers  no  bright  band, 
To  greet  me  with  a  friendly  hand  ? 

III. 

As  deeper  grow  on  earth  the  shades, 
And  from  my  eyes  the  landscape  fades, 
I  gaze  through  never-ending  glades, 

Where  isles  of  gold  in  seas  of  fire 

Kindle  within  me  wild  desire 

To  gain  them,  though  I  there  expire ! 

Sweet  vision  of  snow-drifted  hills, 
Down  whose  bright  side  flow  silver  rills, 
My  soul  with  softest  murmur  fills. 

IV. 

Oh !  could  I  like  a  swallow  float 
On  yonder  tiny,  fleecy  mote, 
As  in  a  swift  celestial  boat ! 

If  only  up  beyond  the  world, 

Among  the  breezy  cloud-wreaths  curled, 

I  might,  one  hour,  thro'  space  be  whirled 

V. 

Yon  filmy  flake  of  purple  hue 

Alone,  set  in  a  sea  of  blue, 

Melts  gently,  softly,  from  the  view. 


7° 

Above  that  dark  and  sombre  bar 
Of  cloud,  behold  a  tiny  star, 
Beaming  upon  me  from  afar. 


VI. 

There  rises  from  the  sun,  though  set, 
A  stream  of  light  that  lingers  yet, 
Like  lovers  that  to  part  have  met. 

But  now  'tis  gone.     I  cannot  stay 
The  lingering  light,  the  feeble  ray  ; 
Farewell,  thou  dear,  departed  day  ! 


AN  IDYL  BY  THE  SEA. 

I. 

The  dark  cliff  threatens  overhead ; 
I  sit  beneath  it  like  one  dead, 
Whose  every  earthly  care  has  fled. 

Oh  !  wash  me,  wash  me,  mighty  sea, 
In  thy  white  foam,  until  I  be 
Free  from  the  world's  impurity. 

Far  down  within  thy  waters  green, 
With  sluggish  air  and  sullen  mien, 
Thy  mighty  monsters  move  unseen. 

They  sweep  above  the  ocean-flowers, 
Where,  clustered  thick  in  rocky  bowers, 
They  bloom  unheeded  thro'  the  hours. 


II. 

So,  idly,  one  can  watch  the  sea, 
From  all  perplexity  so  free, 
Caring  not  what  or  where  he  be. 

Lost  in  a  mightier  moving  thing, 
Entranced  unto  the  rock  I  cling, 
And  o'er  the  seething  waters  swing. 

(70 


72 

The  endless  motion — I  so  still — 
My  soul  doth  satisfy  and  fill, 
Wrapped  in  a  dream  beneath  the  hill. 


III. 

Oh  !  rich  and  rare  thy  treasures  are, 
Brought  tribute  to  thee  from  afar, 

Kept  safely  without  bolt  or  bar. 

Are  thy  mermaidens  all  asleep, 
That  none  above  the  ripples  peep, 
Or  on  the  waves  exulting  leap  ? 

Oh  could  I  cleave  thy  depths,  O  Mer, 
And  casting  off  all  human  fear, 
Wander  thy  realms  of  crystal  clear ; 

See,  where  upon  the  silent  sand, 

Lies,  wreathed  in  weed,  some  vessel  grand, 

That  sank,  within  the  sight  of  land. 

Where,  in  the  dim  unearthly  gloom, 
Her  spars  far  up  above  me  loom, 
And  weird,  fantastic  forms  assume. 

Ah !  freighted  still  with  buried  hopes 
And  dear,  the  slimy  monster  gropes, 
Among  thy  sea-worn  planks  and  ropes. 


73 

IV. 

The  sun  sinks  down,  a  golden  sea' 
Spreads  from  my  feet  away  from  me, 
To  endless  regions  heavenly. 

Oh  !  that,  life  over,  bliss  begun, 
With  eager  footsteps  we  might  run, 
On  golden  pathway,  to  the  sun  ! 

Or  merged  within  its  dazzling  ray, 
In  some  bright  shell  might  float  away, 
To  realms  of  everlasting  day. 


V. 

Oh  !  couldst  thou  lead  me  by  the  hand, 
Oh  sea,  into  thy  mighty  land  ; 
Into  thy  caves  and  castles  grand. 

Ah  !  couldst  thou  let  me,  but  an  hour, 
Within  some  dim-illumined  bower, 
Recline  on  bed  of  ocean-flower. 

But  I  can  hear  thee  sigh  and  say, 
"  None  sleep  within  my  depths,  I  lay 
Them,  cold  and  still,  in  death  away. 

"  Here  is  no  tumult,  no  unrest, 
No  fitful  dreaming,  on  my  breast  ; 
But  all  with  peace,  at  last,  are  blessed." 


AN  IDYL  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

Out  from  the  city,  its  noise  and  glare, 
Did  I  ride  one  day,  thro'  the  summer  air. 

Quiet,  shady,  dreamy,  still, 
Lay  the  valley,  rose  the  hill. 

Hidden  deep  in  a  lovely  dell, 

Lay  a  farm-house,  on  it  the  sunlight  fell, 

Softened,  robbed  of  half  the  heat, 
That  on  the  dusty  city  beat. 

Back  of  the  farm-house  the  pasture  lay, 
High  in  the  centre  the  sweet,  stacked  hay, 

Further,  walls  of  rugged  stone, 
Rain-worn,  time-stained,  moss-o'ergrown. 

Into  the  wall  a  gate  was  set, 

Where  pasture  and  woodland  together  met, 

Thro'  the  gate  a  path  ran  deep 

Into  the  woods,  where  shadows  sleep. 

Just  as  the  sun,  with  fiercer  light, 
Poised  aloft  ere  his  downward  flight, 

Children  twain,  thro'  the  leafy  shade, 
On  to  the  wildwood  deeper  strayed. 
(74) 


75 

Ellen,  once  seen— but  once— by  me, 
Yet  never  may  she  forgotten  be, 

Ellen,  and  I,  the  younger  child, 
Wandered  into  trie  woodland  wild. 

Child  of  the  country-side  was  she, 
Gay  as  the  birds  and  just  as  free. 

Arm  in  arm,  a  happy  pair, 
Against  my  cheek  her  flaxen  hair, 

With  my  hand  in  her  hand,  sun-brown, 
Toward  the  brooklet  we  sauntered  down. 

Thro'  the  pasture,  where  the  kine 
Browsed  in  peace,  though  fear  of  mine 

Made  them  like  "Bulls  of  Bashan"  loom, 
As  the  air  of  a  brave  I  strove  to  assume.    - 

Champion— Protector— Defender— these 
Were  the  names  my  childish  heart  to  please, 

Who  could  harm  my  girl,  while  I, 
Brave  as  a  lion,  stood  sternly  by ! 

How  she  would  bless  me,  and  love  me  then, 
Her  defender,  prouder  than  grown-up  men. 

Still  the  kine  in  the  meadow  grazed, 
Scarcely  their  heads  in  wonder  raised. 

Out  of  the  bed  of  the  babbling  brook 
Treasures  uncounted  we  quickly  took, 


76 


Pebbles,  of  colors  rich  and  rare, 

And  crystals,  like  diamonds  shining  there. 

Wading  the  shallows,  with  laughter  soft, 
Turned  to  fear  in  a  moment  oft, 

Trembling  in  dread  of  the  water-snake, 
With  ashen  faces,  our  flight  we  take. 

Crowning  each  other  with  fragrant  flowers, 
Heedless  quite  of  the  flying  hours, 

So  passed  on  the  happy  day, 

Till  the  sun  behind  the  farm-house  lay, 

Then  together,  we  backward  turned, 
Many  a  thought  in  our  bosoms  burned, 

Many  a  thought  that  found  no  word, 
Never  was  spoken — never  heard; 

Into  the  carriage  at  the  door, 

And  away,  with  scarce  a  word  before ; 

Looking  back  I  saw  her  stand 
Waving  a  farewell  with  her  hand. 

Oh,  how  often,  in  days  gone  by, 
Have  I  drawn  a  deep  and  bitter  sigh, 

Finding  the  world  so  cold  and  stern, 
Finding  my  heart  in  sorrow  yearn, 

For  living  soul,  if  such  might  be, 
Kind  as  this  maiden  was  to  me. 


77 


And  drawn  by  memory  from  care  apart, 
A  calm  comes  over  my  weary  heart, 

That  is  the  echo,  thro'  all  the  years, 
Of  my  Ellen's  childish  smiles  and  tears. 


AN  IDYL  OF  SUNRISE. 

I. 

Over  the  earth  that  silent  sleeps, 
Over  the  soul  that  laughs  or  weeps, 
A  hush  of  expectation  creeps. 

The  bullfrog's  noisy  twang  is  stayed. 
The  cricket  chirps  no  more,  afraid 
Of  the  shrill  song  it  lately  made. 

We  feel  the  river's  onward  rush, 
Yet  scarcely  hear  it,  in  the  hush, 
Its  grass-edged  margin  softly  brush. 

Above  us,  in  the  eastern  sky, 
The  pallid  stars  in  envy  die, 
Before  the  day-star  drawing  nigh. 


II. 

It  is  the  time  to  feel  alone, 

To  bear  without  a  sigh  or  groan 

The  deepest  woes  were  ever  known. 

O  lonely  exile,  wouldst  thou  be 
More  lonely  still,  go  forth  and  see 
The  sun  rise  cold  and  drearily. 
(78) 


79 

Know  then  how  all  alone  thou  art, 
So  silent,  save  thy  throbbing  heart, 
From  life  and  living  things  apart. 


III. 

The  burning  stars  of  night  are  gone, 
And  now  the  blessed  star  of  morn 
Is  tired  of  being  left  forlorn. 

The  owl  within  the  wood  is  still ; 
His  great  green  eyes  with  fire  fill, 
That  to  the  daybreak  bodeth  ill. 

The  East  is  brighter,  one  can  see 
The  distant  loom  of  house  and  tree, 
Though  veiled  in  darkness  mistily. 

Hark  !  the  cock  crows  ;  the  red  has  tipped 
The  mountain  top  and  downward  tripped, 
To  meet  the  hillside,  ruddy  lipped. 

Quick  answers  back  the  blushing  West, 
Where  dreamy  vapors  softly  rest 
Like  down,  upon  the  valley's  breast. 


IV. 

But  not  with  warm  and  fiery  gold 
That  doth  the  setting  sun  enfold, 
Now,  pearly-tinted,  calm  and  cold, 


So 


The  day  in  solemn  glory  breaks. 

As  though  a  trump  the  stillness  shakes, 

The  world  to  life  and  action  wakes. 

The  dew  lies  gleaming  on  the  rose, 
On  spider' s-web  its  glory  glows, 
Over  the  grass  its  rainbow  throws  ; 

From  unknown  haunts  the  butterfly 
On  painted  wing,  comes  fluttering  by ; 
While  many-tinted  atoms  lie 

At  rest,  above  the  silent  stream, 
Or  shoot  across  with  sudden  gleam, 
Like  bright-hued  fancies  of  a  dream. 

The  world  has  wakened.     In  the  grove, 

And  in  the  echoing  sky  above, 

The  birds  are  trilling  loud  their  love. 

The  day  has  come,  with  work  and  wear, 
With  changing  skies  of  cloud  or  fair, 
With  heavy  burdens,  hard  to  bear. 


"IN  THE  LAND  WEST  OF  THE  SUN." 

A  fairy  princess  waits  for  me 
In  lands  beyond  the  Western  Sea, 
And  on  her  castle  walls  she  stands, 
And  beckons  with  her  snow-white  hands. 

Where  is  she  ?     How  may  I  attain 
Her  happy  realm  and  there  remain  ? 
Answer  me  stars,  my  course  I  run, 
Toward  the  Land  West  of  the  Sun  ; 

Answer  me  stars,  and  shall  I  soon 
Reach  her  who  dwells  East  of  the  Moon  ? 
And  shall  I  see  her,  standing  there, 
With  sunlight  on  her  golden  hair  ? 

In  dreams  I  see  her,  night  by  night, 
But  lose  her  in  the  dim  daylight. 

0  Princess  wait,  O !  tarry  long, 

1  come,  I  come,  with  joy  and  song. 

Not  here,  but  there,  not  now,  but  then, 
Thro'  lands  untold  by  tongue  or  pen. 
The  way  is  weary  oft  to  me, 
But  in  glad  dreams  your  face  I  see. 

And  in  a  dream,  that  longest  dream, 
When  dreams  are  real  and  fancies  true, 

And  all  the  world  has  faded  long, 
And  all  my  soul  is  wrapped  in  you, 
6  (81) 


82 


I'll  see  you  gazing  from  your  tower, 
In  the  bright  sun  and  happy  light, 

And  bending  down  to  me,  to  me, 
With  tears  upon  your  lashes  bright. 

For  long  ago,  with  you  afar 

I  dwelt  beyond  the  evening  star, 

And  long  ago,  I  listened  oft, 

And  heard  you  singing  low  and  soft. 

And  long  ago  the  sunlight  shone 
Upon  your  face,  in  rose  and  gold, 

And  once  again,  when  time  has  flown, 
I  shall  you  in  my  arms  enfold. 

For  you  are  mine  and  I  am  thine, 

Once  more,  and  many  times,  shall  we 

Love  and  be  torn  apart  by  fate, 
And,  severed,  wander  hopelessly. 

But  in  the  ever,  ages  on, 

We'll  meet — we'll  greet,  with  laughter  low, 
While  myriad  years  their  cycles  run, 

In  lands  beyond  the  sunset's  glow. 

O  Princess,  tender  heart  that  still 

Must,  far  away,  await  my  fate, 
Must  watch  me  and  with  sorrow  thrill, 

When  years  are  long,  and  time  is  late. 

Far  from  the  world  you  dwell,  afar 
From  earth  and  men  and  sordid  things, 


83 


And  none  can  reach  you  on  your  star, 
Without  the  help  of  angels'  wings. 

But  I  will  come.     Though  long  you  wait ; 

With  joy  and  singing,  in  the  light, 
I  come,  though  time  be  long  and  late, 

As  conqueror  from  a  weary  fight. 

My  fairy  princess,  in  her  lands, 
Waits  still  beyond  the  western  sea, 

Still  on  her  castle  walls  she  stands, 
And  gazes  thro'  the  mist  for  me. 


UNDINE  LOST. 

All  the  day  the  sturdy  rowers 

Urged  the  barge  thro'  the  bright  water, 
Bearing  on  the  sea-king's  daughter, 
Tho'  she  knew  not — to  her  doom. 

And  her  spouse,  the  knight,  undaunted, 
By  no  apprehension  haunted, 
Stood  beside  her — watched  the  oars— 
And  the  river's  eddying  spume. 

But  Bertalda,  still  dissembling, 
Sat  in  silence,  looking  over, 
Like  a  maid  bereft  of  lover, 
In  the  water  at  her  side  ; 
And  she  clipped  a  golden  necklace, 
Either  careless  grown  or  reckless, 
And  she  watched  its  image  trembling 
In  the  shining  silver  tide. 

When  a  hand  rose  from  the  river, 

Gaunt  and  swarthy — huge  and  cruel, 
Seized  relentless  on  the  jewel, 
And  sank  back  into  the  sea ; 

With  one  farewell  flash  and  shiver 
It  was  gone — the  knight  its  giver — 
While  from  out  the  depths  did  quiver 
A  shrill  cry  of  mockery. 

(84) 


§5 


Then  the  knight  could  bear  no  longer, 
All  his  pent  up  passion  rushing 
To  his  lips,  like  torrent  gushing, 
As  he  cursed  the  haunted  stream ; 
With  its  water-sprites  and  devils, 
And  he  dared  them  stay  their  revels, 
And  come  prove  if  they  be  stronger 
Or  be  weaker  than  they  seem. 

But  Bertalda  still  sat  weeping, 

While  Undine  sat  softly  singing 
To  the  waves,  till  one  came  bringing 
A  bright  necklace,  to  her  hand. 

"  Take  this  jewel,"  said  she,  showing 
It  in  ruddy  beauty  glowing, 
"  They  have  left  it  in  my  keeping, 
For  they  still  heed  my  command." 

Then  the  knight  seized  it  and  threw  it 
In  the  sea.     "  You  cling  forever 
To  your  kin,  nor  will  you  sever 
From  them  till  you  cease  to  live  ! 
Get  you  back  !  you  witch  of  evil ! 
To  your  parent,  fiend  and  devil, 
For  you  love  them  best — I  knew  it  ! — 
Go  !  with  all  the  gifts  they  give." 

Then  she  stood,  like  one  in  terror ; 

For  a  moment — tear-drops  streaming, 
As  a  dream  of  sorrow  dreaming, 

With  her  hand  still  stretched  to  him ; 
Then  with  accent  faint  and  weary, 


86 


Said,  "Farewell,  to  regions  dreary- 
Must  I  go — yet  still  I'll  watch  thee, 
Guard  thee — from  the  sea-caves  dim," 

"  Only  be  thou  true  and  danger 
Will  I  ward  from  thee  forever, 
Oh!  must  I  behold  thee  never? 

Must  I  go,  when  bliss  seemed  won  ? 

In  the  dawn  of  youth  and  pleasure, 
Must  I  lose  all  joy  and  treasure? 

Woe  is  me  !  To  thee  a  stranger, 

Woe  !  Alas  !  What  hast  thou  done  ?  " 

And  she  vanished  from  their  vision 
Like  a  spirit  in  the  moonlight, 
There  she  stood,  but  now  in  noon-light, 

Yet  she  was  not.     She  was  gone ; 

And  the  waves  they  murmured  only 
"Woe  is  me,"  in  accents  lonely, 

"Ah,  be  true,  be  true  forever," 

Sighed  they,  till  the  morrow's  dawn. 


THE  RETURN  OF  UNDINE. 

Back  in  terror,  pale  and  silent, 
Fell  the  servants,  while  the  water 
Rose  majestic  from  its  centre, 
White  and  wonderful  and  dread, 
And  they  saw  a  woman  weeping- 
Yet  her  face  close-veiled  keeping— 
In  the  doorway  saw  her  enter 
With  a  slow  and  noiseless  tread. 

At  the  knight's  own  door  she  pauses, 
With  her  finger  lightly  taps  she 
On  its  panel,  while  within  it 
Stands  the  master  in  a  dream. 

Oh,  how  like  Undine's  soft  tapping 
Came  the  sound  of  fingers  rapping— 
Louder,  clearer,  every  minute, 
Till  his  dreamings  real  seem. 

Then  he  roused  and  cried  out,  "Enter  ! " 
And  within  the  polished  mirror 
Saw  a  veiled  figure  moving 

Toward  him  with  a  solemn  mien. 
Saw  a  woman,  silent  weeping, 
Yet  her  face  close-veiled  keeping, 
And  half  fearing,  wholly  loving, 
Knew  it  was  the  lost  Undine. 
(87) 


"They  have  opened  up  the  fountain, 
And  I  cannot  stay  my  coming — 
Though  my  heart  be  almost  broken, 
I  have  come  and  thou  must  die.  " 

"Back!  Away!"  His  hands  outspreading, 
At  a  word  her  presence  dreading. 
"Look  not  on  me,  give  no  token 
Of  thy  name!"  his  bitter  cry. 

"  Show  me  not  that  face  of  horror — 
Draw  not  back  the  veil  that  covers 
What  I  fear  to  see,  but  slay  me, 
Veiled  and  covered  from  my  sight. 
Let  no  form  of  Hell  strike  terror — 
Death  will  punish  all  my  error ; 
Haste,  nor  longer  here  delay  me ; 
Strike  me  dead,  with  all  thy  might." 

"Oh,  alas  !  wilt  thou  not  see  me? 
Once  more  see  me,  ere  the  life-light 
Fades  from  out  those  eyes,  oh,  dearest — 
For  I  am  the  very  same 

Whom  thou  lovedst  and  didst  marry, 
In  the  days  when  thou  didst  tarry 
On  the  island,  in  the  forest, 
And  Undine  is  still  my  name. 

"  If  I  charmed  thee  then,  oh,  dear  one, 
Beauty  has  not  from  me  faded ; 
In  my  eyes  are  tears,  not  anger," 

And  she  stopped  with  sobbing  breath. 


89 

Then  the  knight  took  heart,  and  weeping 
Cried,  "Oh !  God,  into  thy  keeping 
I  commend  me  ;  let  me  see  her; 

Would  her  kiss  might  be  my  death." 

Then  she  threw  her  veil  back,  smiling 
Like  a  Queen  of  wondrous  beauty, 
Sent  to  do  the  hardest  duty 
That  could  fall  to  mortal  lot. 

And  the  knight  stooped  down  to  kiss  her, 
And  thought  once  how  he  should  miss  her 
In  the  realms  to  which  he  hastened, 
And  within  her  arms  was  not. 

***** 

Then  there  fell  an  awful  silence, 

And  they  heard  the  sound  of  foot-falls, 

And  the  door  was  opened  slowly 

While  for  fear  they  held  their  breath ; 
For  they  saw  an  angel  weeping, 
Her  bright  face  unveiled  keeping, 
And  thus  spoke  the  vision  holy— 
"  I  have  wept  him  to  his  death." 


NOT  OF  OUR  WORLD. 

All  around  you,  my  dear  brother, 
Lies  a  world  you  never  enter, 
And  I  think  you  scarcely  see  it 

Though  it  spreads  before  your  eyes. 
You  belong  to  quite  another, 
And  your  bright  home  is  its  centre; — 
Little  wonder  that  you  flee  it, 

When  your  own  is  Paradise. 

It  is  early,  chilly  morning, 

When  the  sun  seems  slow  in  rising, 

Though  it  fall  thro'  crimson  curtain 

On  your  slumber-laden  eyes, 
While  with  many  a  lazy  yawning 
At  the  daylight  so  surprising, 
You  lie  dreamily  uncertain, 

Really  dreading  to  arise. 

Hark  !  the  factory  bell  is  ringing, 
The  mill-whistle  shrill  is  blowing, 
There  is  bustle  in  the  hovel 

With  the  tramp  of  hurried  feet. 
To  the  mother  babes  are  clinging, 
She  must  go  though  it  be  snowing, 
While  the  men  with  weary  faces 

Must  invade  the  silent  street. 
(90) 


91 

Yes,  and  children,  young  and  tender, 

Answer  to  the  iron  summons, 

And  steal  shivering  thro'  the  snowflakes, 

Or  before  the  pelting  rain. 
Girlhood,  pale,  unkempt,  and  slender, 
Thro'  the  lanes  and  o'er  the  commons, 
Must  be  going  as  the  morn  breaks, 

Life's  hard  struggle  to  maintain. 

O  my  brother,  are  you  better 
Than  these  toiling  men  and  women, 
In  aught  else  except  the  chances 

That  have  fixed  your  lot  and  theirs  ? 
Have  they  sinned  that  God  should  fetter 
Them  from  childhood  to  their  toil,  when 
He  on  you  with  favor  glances 

And  your  finer  nature  spares  ? 

Have  you  never,  in  your  wandering, 
Lit  upon  some  lovely  picture 
Of  a  far-off  land  of  pleasure, 

Where  the  softly  gleaming  sun 
Rests  on  rivulets  meandering 
Thro'  green  fields,  where  quiet  nature 
Sleepeth  to  a  murmured  measure 

Of  her  own,  till  day  is  done  ? 

Have  you  never  sighed,  contrasting 

That  ideal  scene  of  beauty 

With  the  rugged  world  about  you, 

And  the  hard,  real  look  of  things  ? 
Felt  a  nameless  sorrow  blasting 
Every  joy  and  every  duty, 


92 

That  the  world  could  move  without  you, 
And  a  longing  for  the  wings 

Of  the  dove,  to  soar  forever 
To  the  land  within  the  picture, 
To  the  land  you  knew  in  childhood, 

To  the  fields  you've  seen  in  dreams, 
From  the  reach  of  that  stern  never 
That  so  galls  the  human  creature, 
To  the  rustle  of  the  green  wood, 

To  the  murmur  of  the  streams  ? 

So,  to  these  born  heirs  of  sorrow 
You  and  yours  are  but  a  vision, 
Caught  gas-lighted  thro'  some  window, 

They,  without,  in  the  dark  street ; 
Piercing  like  a  barbed  arrow, 
Though  the  lip  may  speak  derision, 
As  they  gaze  in  on  the  warm  glow 

Of  your  fireside  picture  sweet. 

To  whom,  gentle  spring  returning, 
And  the  soft,  green  grasses  growing, 
And  the  daisy  on  the  smooth  lawn, 

Bring  no  pleasure — only  pain  ; 
And  a  deep  and  bitter  yearning, 
While  the  years  are  onward  going, 
Each  night  longing  for  the  sun-dawn, 

And  at  morn  for  eve  again. 

In  whose  heart  the  song-bird's  trilling; 
And  the  deep  blue  sky  above  them ; 
And  the  scented  breezes  o'er  them  ; 
And  the  flickering  shadows  cast, 


93 

Bring  no  pleasure,  but  a  thrilling, 
Hopeless  wish  for  some  to  love  them, 
As  they  see  but  toil  before  them 

And  dead  hopes  throughout  the  past. 

In  whose  eyes  the  smiles  of  beauty, 
And  the  light  of  loving  glances, 
And  the  sheen  of  golden  tresses, 

And  the  sound  of  dancing  feet, 
Nerve  them  only  for  stern  duty, 
While  unloving  age  advances, 
And  no  love  the  lone  heart  blesses, 

No  kind  eyes  their  sad  eyes  meet. 

And  the  wedding  bell  but  mocks  them 
With  its  merry,  merry  pealing, 
As  the  bridal  train  sweeps  by  them 

With  its  scent  of  flashing  flowers ; 
And  the  plumed  hearse  scarce  shocks  them, 
Though  their  life  away  is  stealing ; 
Does  not  cruel  life  deny  them 

Happy  homes  and  blessed  hours  ? 

So,  my  brother,  sometimes  ponder, 
Since  you  have  all  earthly  treasure 
That  you  need,  yet  feel  unsated, 

Wanting,  still,  more  shining  gold, 
On  the  ones  who  homeless  wander, 
Or  who  toil  without  a  pleasure, 
To  a  life  of  sorrow  fated, 

And  who  are  not  of  your  world. 


A  SOCIALIST'S  PLEA. 

I  am  an  honest  Socialist 

And  came  to  it  by  honest  ways, 
By  other  men  I'm  seldom  missed, 

But  called  a  man  who  has  a  craze, 
A  crank,  an  idiot,  a  fool, 

A  communist,  an  anarchist, 
And  till  you've  gone  to  the  same  school 

You  all  may  call  me  what  you  list ; 
For  I  have  never  wished  to  burn, 

Or  rob,  or  plunder  other  men, 
But  only  do  an  honest  turn 

To  benefit  "the  one  in  ten  "  ; 
The  trodden  down,  the  overworked, 

The  dwellers  in  the  mire  and  dirt ; 
And  daily  task  I've  seldom  shirked, 

Or  to  a  fellow  done  a  hurt. 
But  when  I  see,  perpetually, 

The  filthy  homes,  the  scanty  fare, 
The  sickness  bred  of  poverty, 

The  weary  hours,  the  poisoned  air, 
The  old  age  coming  on  in  youth, 

The  maiden  beauty  up  for  sale, 
I  burn  to  learn  the  honest  truth, 

And  help,  if  help  can  be,  or  fail. 
Why  should  yon  man,  with  little  toil, 

Heap  riches  to  the  arching  sky, 
And  leave  them  to  his  favored  child, 

When  he  unwillingly  must  die ; 

(94) 


95 

And  why  his  child,  with  stock  and  bond, 
Should  start  in  life  with  every  chance, 
Earth  reaching  out  a  helping  hand, 

And  life  perpetual  song  and  dance ; 
While  his  poor  neighbor,  in  the  row 
That  runs  behind  his  palace  door, 
The  throes  of  hunger  oft  may  know, 

The  pinch  of  poverty  feel,  sore  ? 
Has  meekness  gained  the  rule  of  earth, 

Or  are  the  "poor  in  spirit  "  great  ? 
Were  these  the  words  of  jest  and  mirth, 

Or  were  they  spoken  all  too  late  ? 
Oh  !  Lone  Reformer — Socialist, 

The  truest  earth  has  ever  known, 
How  was  thy  meaning  strangely  missed 
And  far  from  earnest  ears  has  flown. 
The  priests  who  teach,  the  folk  who  hear, 

Know  little  of  thy  words  divine  ; 
They  misinterpret  every  thought 

And  every  hope,  away  refine. 
They  praise  up  simple  poverty, 

Exalt  the  men  who  humble  be, 
That  they  may  have  security 

And  faster  to  their  riches  flee. 
Did  He  but  bless  the  poor  one  day 

They  tell  it  to  the  lower  ranks, 
The  poor  are  blessed — so  they  say, 

But  rich  men  give  the  Lord  their  thanks  ; 
It  keeps  the  murmurers  down,  and  so 

The  millionaire  in  quiet  sleeps  ; 
One  cannot  count  what  blessings  flow 
To  him  who  always  treasure  heaps. 


96 

The  burglar  can  be  Christianized 

And  he  will  rob  no  more,  you  see, 
And  all  the  state  is  quite  elate, 

When  propped  by  Christianity. 
But  I'm  not  sure,  the  Founder  poor 

And  lowly,  whom  they  claim  to  know, 
Imagined  how  they'd  use  his  words, 

Or  how  his  Church  was  going  to  grow. 
How  all  the  things  he  said  to  do, 

They  have  forgotten  long  ago  ; 
And  all  the  things  he  said,  "do  not," 

They  always  say  are  right,  you  know. 
For  wars  are  right,  and  yet  he  came 

And  He  was  called  the  "  Prince  of  Peace," 
And  poverty  he  said  was  best, 

While  Christian  men  in  wealth  increase ; 
And  oaths  were  bad,  'tis  really  sad, 

To  hear  men  swear  in  court,  but  see 
They  so  explain,  that  'tis  quite  plain 

That  oaths  are  not  profanity. 
I  get  confused.     They  use  his  name 

To  further  all  the  ends  of  power, 
And  His  authority  they  claim 

To  falsely  rule  until  this  hour. 
So  I'm  an  honest  Socialist 

And  came  to  it  by  honest  ways, 
From  other  paths  I'm  seldom  missed, 

Or,  called  a  "man  who  has  a  craze." 


"RENDER  UNTO  CAESAR." 

Who  is  this  Caesar  that  I  should  give  to  him  ? 

What  be  the  gifts  that  to  him  belong  ? 
Shall  I  bring  all  that  is  mine,  while  I  live,  to  him  ? 

Or  will  he  smile  on  the  gift  of  my  song  ? 

Who  is  this  Caesar,  and  what  is  a  world  to  him  ? 

Doth  he  not  own  it,  from  age  unto  age  ? 
Are  not  his  banners,  each  day,  unfurled  to  him  ? 

Do  not  all  praise  him,  from  dotard  to  sage  ? 

All  times  belong  to  him,  all  climes  throng  to  him; 

On  thro'  the  aeons,  perpetual,  he  reigns. 
Ever  deceiving  all,  ever  receiving  all 

Good  things,  and  blessings,  men  earn  with  their  pains. 

But  he  gives  back  to  us,  yes,  he  gives  royally; 

Think  of  the  gifts,  thro'  the  ages  he  showers. 
Doth  he  not  crush  down  each  heart  that  beats  loyally, 

Sprinkling  its  blood-drops  about  him,  like  flowers  ? 

Bones  of  the  slaughtered  ones  name  him  and  claim 
him, 

Rivers  of  blood  pour  their  clots  to  his  feet  ; 
Black  with  his  fires,  even  nature  must  shame  him, 

Ruthless  destroyer  of  all  that  is  sweet. 

Out  of  the  flame  we  have  cried  to  him,  died  for  him, 
While  his  great  name  we  in  agony  call ; 
7  (97) 


98 

But  he  gave  death  to  us,  for  all  our  pride  in  him, 
And  he  recks  not,  tho'  a  thousand  hearts  fall. 

Let  us  give  back  to  him,  all  that  he  gave  to  us  ; 

Death,  and  the  flame,  and  the  loved  ones  he  slew ; 
Hark  !  how  they  cheer  us,  and  cry  from  the  grave  to 
us, 

Down  with  the  old  order — long  live  the  new  ! 


THE  CONQUEROR. 

Great  Conqueror!  Leader  of  Armies, 

Be  thy  name  Caesar,  Cambyses, 

Alexander,  Philip  of  Macedon, 

Xerxes,  Attila,  Napoleon ; 

Names  by  scores,  pages  on  pages, 

Lost  to  history,  in  its  dark  ages ; 

Thou  hast,  oh  silent  eyes, 

One  name,  one  dread  surprise, 

Known  alone  to  thee 

And  Him  who  set  thee  free, 

To  ravage  humanity. 

Thou  whom  no  pity  moves, 

Who  hast  no  human  loves, 

Angel  of  Death  in  man  incarnate, 

Knowing  no  brotherhood,  without  mate, 

We  are  too  many,  we 

Tremblingly  look  for  thee, 

To  sweep  us  mortals 

Thro'  Hades'  portals. 

Thy  faces  are  ever  the  same, 

Like  thy  name. 

Thy  rank  forever  unknown, 

Or  to  God  alone. 

Thine  eyes,  with  baleful  light, 

Shine  joyously  out  in  fight. 

Merciless  ;  pitiless  ;  evil  ; 

We  know  thee  ;  thou  art  the  devil ! 

Satan— Asmodeus — Azrael ! 

Kneel  man  to  thy  conqueror,  kneel ! 


(99) 


THE  POWERS  THAT  BE. 

O  Power  that  is,  one  of  the  Powers  that  be, 
We  humbly  bow  in  reverence  unto  thee  ; 
Because  God  hath  ordained  thee,  and  the  harm 
Thou  doest  is  supported  by  His  arm. 
But  list !  To-morrow  we  will  cast  thee  down, 
Strip  from  thy  cruel  brow  thy  jeweled  crown, 
And,  soon,  another  reverenced  one  we'll  raise, 
To  be  cast  down  in  turn,  in  like  disgrace. 
But,  while  he  stands,  we'll  reverence  him,  for  he 
Will  be  God's  own  ordained,  like  unto  thee. 
Thus  God  ordains  what  man  does  ;  He  confirms 
The  judgment  and  the  deeds  of  us  poor  worms. 
And  so  these  words,  grand-sounding,  seem  but  pooi 
To  us,  while  tyrants  and  their  crimes  endure  ; 
And  we  claim  God  our  helper,  when  we  thrust 
The  rulers  of  the  world  down  into  dust. 


(joo) 


OLD  THANKSGIVING. 

'Tis  the  day  we  call  Thanksgiving,  honored  custom  of 

the  past, 
To  recall  for  once  our  blessings,  and  to  feast  as  well 

as  fast ; 

And  each  home,  the  rich,  the  lowly,  bringeth  forth  its 
choicest  store, 

For  the  baby  of  a  summer,  for  the  grandsire  of  four- 
score. 

While  without  the  leaves  are  falling,  the  last  leaflet, 

brown  and  sere, 
To  the  coming  winter  calling,  as  his  hastening  feet 

they  hear. 

Still  the  sun  looks  down  upon  us,  but  his  rays  have 

lost  their  fire, 
Still  they  fall  in  glory,  at  the  eve,  on  humble  roof  and 

spire, 

Still  he  lights  with  gold  the  lines  of  cloud  that  hover 

in  the  West, 
But  he  groweth  daily  sadder,  as  he  hasteneth  to  his 

rest. 

And  the  travelers  draw  their  mantles,  closer,  closer, 

for  the  night 
Groweth  chill  and  bleak  and  bitter,  with  the  fading  of 

the  light. 

(IOI) 


102 

But  within  the  house  is  pleasure,  thro'  the  curtains 

you  may  see 
Shadows  flitting,  figures  sitting — while  the  night  goes 

merrily ; 

And    they  crack   the    "  shellbarks,"  butternuts,  and 

walnuts  smooth  and  brown, 
And  they  roast  the  dark  bay  chestnuts,  tipped  with 

shining  silver  down  ; 

And  their  hearts  rise  up  unconscious,  to  the  Giver  of 

all  joys, 
He  who   gives   the  rich  their  riches — and  the  little 

child  his  toys, 

He   who    watches,  with  a  loving  eye,  while  human 

beings  rest ; 
He  who  folds  in  down  the  wealthy,  but  the  homeless 

on  his  breast. 

He  who  gives  and  takes  at  pleasure,  for  we  all  belong 

to  Him, 
Good  and  evil,  rich  and  humble — -saint  and  shining 

seraphim. 

Are  there  none  to-night  in  sorrow,  while  the  throngs 

of  earth  rejoice  ? 
And  in  all  the  hum  of  pleasure  speaks  there  not  one 

plaintive  voice  ? 

But  within  we  rest    so  happily,  that  like  a  passing 

dream, 
Half    forgotten   in    the   morning— others   cares   and 

troubles  seem. 


i©3 

Here  are  those  we  knew  in  childhood,  whom  we  loved 

with  youthful  heart, 
Whom  we  thought  to  hold  forever,  yet  the  world  our 

lives  did  part. 

Who  had  faded  from  our  thoughts,  perhaps,  yet  once 
held  mighty  sway, 

Our  old  loves  and  lovers,  met  again,  upon  Thanks- 
giving day. 

Coming   eager,   from   the   Indies,   from   the   distant 

islands  come, 
To   be   all  within  their  places,  in  their  childhood's 

happy  home. 

From  successes  and  from  failures,  though  the  world 

may  cast  them  out ; 
In  the  home  to  which  they  hasten,  no  suspicion,  slur, 

or  doubt. 

And  their  hearts  grow  young  and  joyous,  and  the 

years  seem  only  days, 
All  the  years,  that  were  as  ages,  to  the  toilers  on  their 

ways. 

But  how  can  the  soul  within  us  sit  here  silent  and  at 

rest, 
Can  we  fold  our  hands  together,  and  yet  hope  we  may 

be  blest  ? 

Should   the   bright  glad  life    within  us  vanish  with 

Thanksgiving  night, 
Would  the  years  spent  here  look  honest  and  our  deeds 

seem  ever  right  ? 


104 

Would  there  be  no  burning  torment,  worse  by  far  than 
scorching  flame, 

As,  against  the  outer  darkness,  flashed  some  long-for- 
gotten name  ? 

As  we  traced  the  end  of  actions  which  our  thought- 
less hands  begun, 

Traced,  when  powerless  then  to  alter,  one  least  thing 
beneath  the  sun ; 

As  we  viewed  the  past  like  visions,  and,  within  the 

lurid  light, 
Saw  the  little  good  we  fancied  gone— the  evil  only 

bright. 

'Tis  so  easy  to  be  thankful,  one  would  think,  if  one 

has  all, 
When  the  richest  gift  of  heaven,  in  our  laps,  unsought 

for,  fall. 

Yet,  perchance,  it  may  be  truer  than  we  dream,  that 

only  those 
Are  most  thankful  who  have  drained  to  its  dregs  the 

cup  of  woes, 

Only  those  can  love  the  deepest  who  have  sinned  the 

greatest  sin, 
Only  those,  who  waited  long  without,  with  songs  of 

joy  come  in. 

If  He  keep  rewards  for  those  who  here  have  little  lot 

and  store, 
Will  He  spare  us  pampered  creatures,  who  are  misers 

to  the  core  ? 


105 

And  the  way  to  keep  our  riches,  as  the  sacred  lips 

have  told, 
Is  to  lay  them  where  no  robber  can  break  in  and  steal 

our  gold ; 

Is  to  hide  them  where  no  mildew  can  spot  or  rust 

corrode, 
In  the  heaven,  and  we  may  reach  it,  but  thro'  poverty's 

abode. 

For  the  grain  within  the  garner  may  be  worth  just  so 
much  gold, 

But  the  seed  sown  in  the  fallow  will  return  an  hundred- 
fold. 


A  PRAYER. 

Not  unto  me,  ah !  give  not  unto  me 
All  of  the  crosses  that  were  borne  by  Thee, 
Lest  I  fall  faint  upon  the  weary  road, 
And  fail  to  reach  at  all  Thy  blest  abode. 

Not  unto  me,  ah !  give  not  unto  me 
All  of  the  treasures  that  in  life  may  be ; 
Lest  I  grow  proud  and  quite  forget  that  Thou 
Hast  richer  jewels  for  the  conqueror's  brow. 

Give  unto  me,  O  Lord,  give  unto  me 
Whatever  in  Thy  sight  seems  best  to  be. 
My  strength  is,  in  Thine  eyes,  a  feeble  span, 
And  Thou  rememberest  that  I  am  but  man. 

Give  unto  me,  dear  Lord,  give  unto  me, 
Always  contented  with  my  lot  to  be ; 
Always  to  see,  in  whatsoe'er  befall, 
Thy  hand  bestowing,  or  withholding  all. 


(106) 


A  PROTEST. 

Now!  by  the  great  Eternal, 

Who  formed  us  like  Himself, 
'Tis  right  that  man  should  leave  his  lands, 

His  stocks,  his  hoarded  pelf, 

But  in  another  world  beyond 

His  children  and  his  wife 
He  mast  possess,  to  live  at  all 

A  glad  eternal  life. 

Yea  !  and  the  Lord  Almighty 

Himself,  shall  He  possess 
A  dearly  loved  Son  and  we 

His  likeness  joy  in  less  ? 

Ah  !  lonely  would  the  heavens  be, 

And  lone  the  crystal  sea, 
If  on  its  banks  I  walked  alone, 

And  none  were  near  to  me. 

And  what,  though  all  the  angel  band 
Poured  forth  their  sweetest  song, 

If  one  dear  loving  voice  were  missed, 
Unheard  amid  the  throng. 

So  earth  is  not  the  dreary  place 

We  feign  it,  for  you  see, 
How,  missing  common  things  of  earth, 

The  heavens  would  dreary  be. 


(107) 


AS  HOME  I  COME. 

As  home  I  come  at  Summer's  eve, 
And  upward  to  my  windows  look, 

I  miss  the  little  heads,  that  once 
Their  curly  locks  in  sunlight  shook. 

And  was  it  two,  or  was  it  three 
Small  faces,  that  I  used  to  see ; 

For  one  is  faint,  but  Oh  !  so  dear, 
Yet  never  more  will  there  appear. 

As  home  I  come,  as  come  I  may, 
When  sun  has  set  on  life's  brief  day, 
From  out  the  windows  of  the  sky, 
Whence  look  the  eyes  of  them  who  die, 
Oh,  may  I  see,  gaze  down  on  me, 
The  one  I  miss  anions:  the  three. 


(10S) 


WITHOUT  THE  GATE. 

Without  the  gate,  the  day  comes  late  ; 
Within — the  night  can  never  be. 
While,  o'er  the  sullen  waves,  a  light 
Flashes  and  glows  in  ruby  red  ; 
And  o'er  the  wall,  sweet  voices  call 
Of  souls,  in  bliss,  to  sorrow  dead  ; 
And,  from  the  wave,  voices  come  far 
And  sad,  for  they  in  torment  are. 

Ah,  I  can  hear,  who  sit  so  near, 
And  yet  removed  forevermore, 
The  laugh  of  those  on  earth  I  chose, 
And  loved,  and  called  my  own,  before. 
But  now  I  beat,  with  aimless  feet, 
And  strive,  and  call,  till  silence  fall. 

Without  the  gate  of  Paradise  I  sit  and  wait, 

While  o'er  the  wall,  the  voices  fall, 

Of  song,  and  melody  and  joy. 

I  wait,  and  hope  the  gates  may  ope, 

And  let  the  longed-for  vision  glide 

Down  quite  to  me — yet  only  see 

The  turrets  frowning  endlessly  ; 

Uprising  from  the  wintry  sea, 

To  bar  the  light  within  from  me. 

I  to  that  home  may  never  come 

By  day  or  night — by  dark  or  light, 

But,  all  too  late,  I  sit  and  wait, 

Before  heaven's  never-opened  gate. 

(109) 


BROTHERS  OF  DIVES. 

In  ancient  Sidon,  by  the  purple  sea, 

The  brothers  of  great  Dives  sat  in  state. 

For  he  was  dead — yea — turned  to  dust  was  he — 
While  song  and  dance  resounded  from  his  gate. 

Up  past  the  clustered  pillars,  carved  and  bright, 
The  spoil  of  Egypt  and  of  many  fanes, 

Amid  the  revelers,  thro'  the  softened  light, 
That  fell  on  marble  floor,  in  silver)''  lanes, 

Into  the  presence  of  these  mighty  lords, 

There  stepped  one  eve  a  youth,  so  wondrous  fair, 

With  gleaming  eye,  and  bold  and  strange  his  words, 
While  golden  light  came  blazing  from  his  hair. 

"  Lo,  I  was  once  the  beggar  at  your  gate  ; 

While,  down  the  hall,  your  music  floated  low, 
Or  rang  in  joyous  gayety,  when  late 

The  shaded  lamps  gave  forth  a  ruby  glow. 

"  I  could  look  up  thro'  columned  portico 
And  watch  the  rosy  garlands  on  each  head. 

Ye  could  look  down  and  see  me,  stretched  below, 
Sore,  faint  and  hungry — with  the  dogs  ye  fed. 

"And  down  the  air  came  perfumes  rich  and  rare, 
And  scent  of  viands  from  your  princely  feast. 

And  crumbs  ye  threw  me,  for  my  only  fare, 
As  with  your  dogs  I  lay — less  than  the  least. 

(no) 


1 1 1 


"  But  once  ye  smiled  on  me  as  ye  swept  by, 

And  even  tossed  a  coin  to  me  that  day 
In  pity — when  ye  saw  me  naked  lie, 
And  thought,  perchance,  that  ye  were  finer  clay. 

"And  so  I  came.     They  would  not  "let  me  come, 
Till,  in  high  heaven,  I  wept  and  moaned  your  fate. 

They  could  not  bear  my  misery,  in  that  home, 

Where  naught  but  joy  comes  early  and  comes  late. 

"  For  Dives,  once  your  brother  in  these  halls — 
Now  lies  in  Hades,  in  the  burning  flame, 

And  every  moment,  from  its  fiery  walls, 

He  calls  me,  yes,  he  calls  the  beggar's  name. 

"  I  could  not  stay.  I  must  to  you  come  down, 
And  bear  his  message,  to  repent  and  turn. 

Cast  from  your  arms  each  purple,  silken  gown, 
And  live  in  poverty,  or  ye  will  burn. 

"  Repent,  or  torment  to  you  all  will  come. 

Give  all  you  have !    Throw  forth  your  riches  wide  ! 
Open  your  doors  and  give  the  beggars  home, 

And  not  in  vain,  oh  Dives,  hast  thou  died." 

He  ceased,  and  all  the  six  in  madness  rose, 

Their  loosened  garlands  falling  to  the  ground. 
Their  angry  words  upon  their  pale  lips  froze 
As  Lazarus  vanished,  and  they  made  no  sound. 

Weep  Dives,  in  thy  misery  and  flame, 
Beg  for  the  water  that  can  cool  alone. 

Thy  kin  forget  thee  :  curse  thy  vanished  name  : 
And  thou  canst  never  for  thy  sin  atone. 


WOMAN'S  LOVE. 

Unreasoning  love,  but  highest  love,  for  all ; 

Tis  easy  to  give  love  for  love  again  ; 

'Tis  easy  to  live  on  and  love,  in  joy, 

In  wealth,  in  health,  in  calm  tranquillity, 

But  to  be  scorned  and  love  ?  to  be 

Stung  by  the  taunt,  pierced  by  the  look  of  hate, 

Cut  to  the  heart  by  cruel  word,  and  love ; 

By  cold  neglect  to  wither,  like  a  flower 

In  autumn,  to  be  struck  in  anger — aye, 

Ever  so  lightly,  by  the  hand  one  loves — 

By  this,  all  but  the  truest  love  must  die. 

Unreasoning  love — to  bear  the  blow  and  shame, 

To  hide  the  wound  from  all,  and  pine,  and  fade; 

To  watch  the  waning  night-hours,  or  to  list 

The  tread  unsteady,  or  to  meet  the  eye 

Lustreless,  listless,  angrily  insane  ; 

To  bear  with  hunger,  cold,  neglect  and  pain — 

Yet  these  so  live  by  thousands.     These  are  they 

Who  win  their  crowns  unnoticed,  and  at  last 

From  garret  and  from  snow-drift  and  the  cold, 

Uncharitable  doorstep  of  the  rich, 

Ascend  the  skies  to  claim  them.     Men  may  love 

And  do  great  actions,  and  be  borne  by  love 

Thro'  deadly  perils,  and  be  brave  in  war, 

But  woman's  victories  grand  and  silent  are. 


(II2) 


THE  RING. 

Look !  in  my  hand  a  sparkling  ring  I  hold ; 
A  diamond,  set  aloft  in  virgin  gold ; 
No  pebble,  no  base  metal,  each  is  pure; 
Each  will  the  staining  touch  of  time  endure; 
Nor  will  the  gold  grow  dim,  nor  yet  the  light 
Cease  to  burst,  sun-like,  from  this  diamond  bright. 
Each  on  the  other  for  its  all  depends ; 
The  circlet,  the  gem  gone,  its  mission  ends ; 
The  diamond,  with  no  setting,  could  but  lie, 
For  safety,  in  some  strong  obscurity, 
Unable,  like  an  infant,  to  be  trusted 
Alone;  perchance,  occasionally  dusted; 
Poised  'twixt  the  thumb  and  finger  for  a  minute, 
Then  to  the  safe,  no  sooner  out  than  in  it ; 
But  set  together,  lo,  the  ring  entire ! 
The  polished  gold  flashing  a  ruddy  fire ; 
Its  crown  of  glory  gleaming  like  a  star 
Seen  in  the  distance  and  admired  from  far. 
This  fable  teaches,  as  the  school-books  say, 
What  ?    Everything  within  the  light  of  day ; 
The  first  thing  that  befell  to  man  created, 
While  yet  in  Eden  he  sojourned  unmated. 
This  ring  but  typifies  unto  my  mind 
The  mystic  union  of  our  human  kind. 
Call  you  the  diamond  woman  ?  let  it  pass, 
Though  sometimes  you  might  find  your  diamond  glass ; 
Then  man's  the  setting — man  the  back  and  foil ; 
His  the  strong  arms  that  do  the  mighty  toil, 
8  (113) 


114 

Hold  her  above  the  dust  yet  clasp  her  close ; 

Or,  if  to  look  another  way  you  choose, 

Woman's  the  gold,  the  true,  tried,  virgin  gold, 

Who  from  unworthy  paths  the  man  must  hold. 

Clasp  'round  him  arms  of  strength,  because  of  love, 

Lift  him  aloft,  even  herself  above, 

So  sacrificing  of  herself  that  she 

Helps  him  to  heights  where  she  may  never  be. 

So  each  helps  each;  each  gathers  strength  and  hope 

With  all  the  ills  of  life  to  better  cope; 

So  each  grows  brighter,  till  the  darkest  lot, 

Thus  lighted,  owns  one  shining,  happy  spot. 


"WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINED." 

Whom  God  hath  joined  together 

For  fair,  or  stormy  weather, 

For  cloud  or  sunshine, 

Sun  or  rain, 

Man  may  not  part, 

Nor  burst  their  bands  asunder, 

Lest  he  himself  fall  under 

The  dread  command, 

Which  plain  doth  stand, 

And  holds  each  loving  heart. 

Let  man  not  part,  by  impious  deed, 
Such  loving  hearts,  with  careless  heed, 
But  who  are  those,  we  wonder, 
Whom  God  hath  joined  together? 
Would  those  He  joined,  asunder 
Desire  to  be  ?  Or  whether 
Can  it  be  true,  that  man  may 
Carelessly  join,  and  then  say, 
"  God  did  it,  and  His  dread  command 
Holds  you  as  one,  on  sea  and  land." 


(115) 


JANET. 

Beautiful  is  clear  Janet 

As  she  smiling  watches  me, 
Scarce  a  woman,  more  than  child, 
Modest — yet  a  trifle  wild  ; 
Surely  eye  has  never  met 
Picture  fair  as  she. 

Sunlight  falls  upon  her  head, 

Bathing  it  in  golden  light  ; 

As  upon  an  angel's  face, 

I,  a  man  of  mortal  race, 

Gaze  in  wonder  till  the  red 

Flashes  in  a  torrent  bright 

O'er  her  cheeks  and  o'er  her  brow, 
From  pure  joy  and  happiness, 
For  she  loves  to  be  admired, 
And  but  lately  I've  aspired 
To  be,  what  she  calls  me  now, 

Husband — nothing  more — nor  less. 

Singing  sweetly  to  my  soul, 
Hers  the  sweetest  voice  to  me, 
What  can  heaven  give  more,  I  cry, 
Oh !  that  we  might  never  die, 
But,  as  endless  seasons  roll, 
Only  endless  love  forsee. 
(116) 


ii7 

Pure  in  woman's  purity, 

By  her  side  so  dark  I  seem  ; 
Calm  in  many  a  trying  hour, 
Yet  as  fragile  as  a  flower, 
Childhood  in  maturity ; 
Angel  in  a  blessed  dream. 

Artful,  without  thought  of  harm, 
Careless,  without  need  of  care, 
Dark  as  even  are  her  eyes, 
And  their  lightest  glance  I  prize ; 
Soft  the  curve  of  the  white  arm, 
Deepest  brown  her  wealth  of  hair. 

Kind  and  gentle,  when  I  feel 
Careworn  and  oppressed  with  ill, 
Fond  of  having  her  own  way, 
As  all  women  are,  they  say, 
To  my  heart  I  let  her  steal, 
And  she  always  has  her  will. 

Proud  as  queen  of  eastern  land, 
Very  proud  indeed  of  me  ; 
Scornfully  she  looks  on  all 
Who  themselves  her  lovers  call, 
Joying  in  the  blessed  band 
That  binds  her — yet  is  free. 

Very  rich  is  dear  Janet, 
Very  rich  I  now  am,  too  ; 

All  your  wealth  is  this  poor  heart, 
And  all  mine — -love,  do  not  start, 
I'm  a  lowly  man  as  yet, 
But  so  rich  in  having  you. 


HIS  PLEA. 

She  was  toiling  with  her  needle,  in  a  bare  room  in  the 
city, 
High  up  toward  the  lonely  heavens,  toiling,  scarcely 
earning  bread ; 
To  have  seen  her  fading  fair-bloom  would  have  moved 
your  heart  to  pity, 
With  no  God  to  send  His  ravens,  till  with  hunger 
she  was  dead. 

To  have  seen  her  cheeks  grow  thinner,  with  each  day 
of  wasting  hunger, 
While  the  gold  lay  all  around  her,  if  she  stooped 
herself  to  shame, 
But  this  woman  was  no  sinner,  though  there  may  be 
many  younger, 
'Twas  her  own  pure  virtue  bound  her,  had  she  yielded 
who  could  blame, 

Not  you  surely,  you  were  never  tried  by  hunger,  never 
friendless, 
While  around  you  lay  the  riches  which  could  bring 
you  food  and  rest, 
Nor  condemned  to  live  forever,  in  a  round  of  labor  end- 
less, 
Taking  weary,  weary  stitches,  for  a  pittance,  at  the 
best ; 

(118) 


ii9 

While  to  catch  you,  in   your  weakness,  every  hour 
the  wily  devils 
Whispered  softly  of  the  treasures  that  the  world  to 
sinners  gave, 
In  your  garret,  dark  and  cheerless,  painted  visions  of 
gay  revels, 
Filled  the  air  with  dreamy  measures,  sang  of  freedom 
to  the  slave. 

'Tis  so  easy  to  live  purely,  when  you  have  the  safe 
protections 
Of  your  home  and  every  pleasure,  and  temptation 
never  near ; 
But  another  thing  'tis,  surely,  to  crush  down  your  best 
affections, 
And  to  hide  your  beauty's  treasure,  with  a  blind  and 
deadly  fear. 

Women's  hearts  cry  out  for  loving,  women's  beauty 
for  admiring, 
And  their  lips  for  only  kissing,  and  their  arms  for 
babes  to  hold ; 
Not  the   women  who  are  moving  heaven  and  earth 
and  still  aspiring, 
While  their  highest  "  rights  "  they're  missing,  and 
their  hearts  beat  slow  and  cold. 

If  I  saw  her  on  the  cold  earth,  she  all  friendless,  you 
befriended, 
Saw  her  homeless,  faith  may  falter,  and  her  life  was 
almost  lost — 


120 

Must  she  perish  by  her  lone  hearth,  must  I  sit  and  see 
it  ended, 
With  no  loving  arm  to  shelter  her  poor  heart,  tempta- 
tion-tossed ; 

Could  I  watch  her,  downward  sinking,  caught  in  snares 
ever  set  for  her, 
While  her  beauty  was  her  danger,  and  no  refuge  but 
the  grave ; 
Could  I  see  it,  without  linking  myself  to  her,  while  I 
bore  her 
From  the  perils  of  the  stranger,  when  I  had  the  power 
to  save  ? 

So  I  took  her,  and  I  called  her  my  best  treasure  and 
my  dearest, 
And  she  grows  to  be  the  flower  and  the  glory  of  my 
days  ; 
In  my  home  have  I  installed  her,  as  of  all  the  world 
the  nearest, 
And   for   many  a  blessed  hour   has   she  bloomed 
beneath  my  gaze. 

For  beneath  her  dark  eyes  shining  there  is  nothing 
she  would  cover, 
And  there  can  be  no  concealing  where  is  nothing  to 
conceal ; 
As  she  sits  there,  not  divining  half  the  joy  of  her  dear 
lover, 
To  his  heart  the  truth  revealing,  not  for  woe,  but  all 
for  weal. 


AT  THE  THEATRE. 

Agnes  and  I  had  fallen  out, 
After  a  love  of  years  and  years. 
By  some  trifle  it  came  about, 
My  petulance,  and  her  tears. 

So  the  evenings  were  long  and  sad, 

So  the  days  were  sad  and  long, 
And,  just  because  I  nothing  had 

To  do,  I  went  with  the  throng. 

Up  the  steps  of  the  theatre,  bright 

With  a  score  of  lights  and  their  flaming  glare, 
I  trod,  with  a  heavy  heart  that  night, 

With  a  hope  to  be  quiet  there. 

Just  to  forget,  for  an  hour  or  so, 

One  sweet  face  with  tearful  eyes  ; 
And  there  I  sat,  in  the  cushioned  row, 

Awaiting  the  curtain  rise. 

What  the  play  was  I  quite  forget, 

Some  love  story  of  country  life, 
Lovers  baffled,  despairing,  yet, 

In  the  ending,  man  and  wife. 

So  I  gazed  on  the  painted  scenes, 
Seeing  their  emptiness,  all  untrue  ; 

Chrome  and  verdigris  made  the  greens, 
And  the  skies  but  cobalt  blue. 

(121) 


122 


But  in  a  moment,  a  glance,  a  tone, 
Dropped  by  chance  in  the  actor's  role, 

Sent,  in  mercy,  to  me  alone, 

Swept  in  a  torrent  across  my  soul. 

For  the  scene  shifted,  melted  away ; 

Gone  was  the  stage  and  its  jeweled  queens ; 
The  loud-mouthed  actors  ceased  their  bray, 

And  I  gazed  on  other  scenes. 

Under  the  shade  of  living  trees 
I  stood  myself  on  the  velvet  grass, 

Heaven's  blue  sky  and  summer  breeze 
O'er  me  and  my  country  lass  ; 

And  my  words  came  thick  and  fast, 

As  I  plead  with  the  maid  who  stood  by  me, 

As  I  promised,  "  while  life  shall  last, 
Agnes,  I  will  be  true  to  thee." 

Then  the  rush  of  the  world  broke  in, 
Down  came  the  curtain  to  music  sweet, 

As  from  Eden,  cast  out  by  sin, 
I  rushed  to  Eden,  my  Agnes'  feet. 


A  MEDALLION. 

Beautiful  face — clear  cut — 

'Gainst  the  darkness, 

Set  medallion-wise 

Into  the  past ; 

Looking  back  musingly, 

I  see  thee  only; 

See  every  line  of  thee, 

Curve  of  thee,  shade  of  thee, 

Beautiful  face, 

Long  loved  and  long  lost. 

Beautiful  blush 

Of  the  faintest  vermilion 

Hue  on  thy  cheek, 

That  never  grows  deeper, 

Never  grows  paler,  for  no  emotion 

Comes  o'er  thee  now  to  stir  into  action 

Pulses  that  beat  till 

The  bright  tinge  was  brighter, 

On  thy  beautiful  face, 

Long  loved  and  long  lost. 

Beautiful  eyes 

That  loved  me  and  looked  on  me ; 

Loved  me  so  dearly, 

So  fondly,  so  faithfully ; 

Shone  bright  in  darkness 

Upon  me,  still-lying, 

(123) 


124 

Beautiful  eyes 

In  laughing,  in  crying, 

Dark,  silent  eyes, 

Long  loved  and  long  lost. 

Beautiful  days 

Whose  memory  can  never 

Fade  from  my  heart  quite, 

Till  life  be  all  over ; 

Beautiful  love 

Now  wronged  and  polluted, 

Beautiful  heart 

For  sin  so  unsuited, 

Dear,  tender  heart, 

Lons  loved  and  lon£  lost. 


TO  A  SISTER  OF  MERCY. 

To  live,  to  love,  yet  never  see  my  love  ; 

To  know  her  heart  beats  truly  still  for  me  ; 
To  dream  of  her  by  night,  to  vainly  move 

My  empty  arms,  as  her  in  dreams  I  see. 

To  kneel  at  eve,  for  her  repose  to  pray, 

Knowing  she  then  doth  pray  for  me  with  tears, 

To  wake  each  morn  and  live  the  weary  day, 
Worn  and  disheartened  by  a  thousand  fears. 

To  meet  a  form  like  her,  amid  the  throng 
Of  busy  travelers  in  the  crowded  street, 

To  strain  my  eager  eyes,  to  find  them  wrong, 
Or  meeting,  pale  and  trembling,  fear  to  greet. 

To  smile,  to  cry,  "Ah,  Dearest,  speak  one  word," 
To  see  behind  the  veil  the  trembling  lip, 

Yet  with  fixed  eyes,  as  though  she  nothing  heard, 
Save  for  the  faltering  feet  that  fail  and  slip. 

To  know  that  she  is  sicVand  near  to  death  ; 

To  see,  between,  the  gloomy  convent  walls  ; 
To  never  know  if  she,  with  dying  breath, 

Waking,  or  wildly  raving,  for  me  calls. 

Knowing  her  heart  is  ever  all  my  own, 

Oh !  "Bride  of  Christ,"  'tis  mockery,  thou  art  mine 
Yet  am  I  here  without  thee,  all  alone, 

Thou  ever  mine  by  love's  own  law  divine. 

(125) 


126 

Sister  of  Mercy  do  they  call  thee  now. 

Is  there  no  heart  beneath  that  sombre  stole, 
No  love,  no  hate,  behind  that  placid  brow, 

Does  peace  forever  reign  within  thy  soul  ? 

Hast  thou  no  mercy  then  to  give  me  ? 

No  pity,  not  a  smile  to  cheer  my  lot  ? 
No  love?  ah,  yes,  I  trust  thee  still ;  no  blot 

Shall  ever  stain  my  fervent  faith  in  thee. 


FAREWELL. 

Two  hands  within  two  hands, 

Face  set  to  face, 

Within  the  shadows,  as  the  eve 

Was  stealing  on  apace. 

Oh !  love  let  us  not  grieve, 

Since  now  no  other  bands 

Than  love  can  hold  us,  still, 

And  love  is  sin  ; — 

Then  let  us  part  at  last, 

Ere  we  begin 

Another  burning  and  tumultuous  past, 

That  can  but  work  us  ill. 

Not  yet — ah,  no,  not  yet, 

Ere  on  thy  lips 

My  soul  one  moment  lingers  in  a  dream, 

And  gently  dips 

Into  thy  soul,  and  we  a  moment  seem 

Lost  in  one  lingering,  loving,  long  regret. 

Not  yet,  ah,  no,  not  yet, 

Till  to  my  breast 

I  hold  thee,  this  one  moment  mid  my  tears; 

There  shalt  thou  rest 

No  more,  forever,  with  thy  hopes  and  fears, 

And  I  have  left  me,  only,  to  forget. 


(127) 


DELILAH. 

Down  through  vineyards,  grape-laden, 
Comes  Samson,  the  strong  man  of  Dan, 
Seeking  a  Philistine  maiden. 

Down  to  the  strong-walled  city, 
Gaza,  whose  gates  are  so  mighty, 
Comes  he  to  sing  his  love  ditty. 

Murmur  a  melody  o'er  him, 
Touch  him  so  lightly  with  kisses, 
Knowing  the  ruin  before  him. 

Take  thou  the  best  we  can  render, 
All  of  our  truest  and  bravest, 
Every  one  manly  and  tender. 

What  canst  thou  give  us  in  payment 
For  our  brothers  and  lovers? 
Not  all  thy  silken,  rich  raiment. 

Murmur  a  melody  o'er  them, 
Touch  them  so  lightly  with  kisses, 
Knowing:  the  ruin  before  them. 


(128) 


HELENE. 

Thou  art  fair  as  the  morn,  Helene, 

And  thy  brow 
Is  fit  for  the  crown  of  a  queen, 

My  queen  thou  art  now. 

Thou  art  older  than  I,  Helene, 

By  a  few  short  years, 
Yet  a  tear-drop  thy  sorrows  have  been 

To  my  ocean  of  tears. 

Thou  art  wiser,  far  wiser  than  I, 

In  the  world  and  its  ways, 
Yet  thy  wisdom  is  folly 
And  "fool"  is  thy  praise. 

What  end  lies  before  thee  in  life, 

What  end  before  me  ? 
To  be  swallowed  and  lost  in  a  love, 

Like  a  raging  sea  ? 

O  passionate— deep— shallow  heart, 

Is  life  given  only  to  love ; 
Are  cares  but  a  myth  and  a  dream, 

To  thy  grand  eyes  above  ? 

Is  life  to  be  spent  in  a  clasp 

Or  a  kiss  ? 
Can  man  not  go  on  to  his  doom 

Content,  without  this  ? 
9  (l29) 


130 

Yet  thou  goest  the  way  of  the  world, 

Thy  roses  shall  fade, 
And  thy  lips,  that  are  ruby-red  now, 

In  the  dust  shall  be  laid. 

Thy  bosom  shall  heave  no  more 

With  love-sighs, 
And  the  love-light  forever  die  out 

From  thy  glorious  eyes. 

Release  me!  Release  me!  Helene, 

But  a  child  am  I 
In  thine  arms,  if  thou  cast  me  not  down, 

Shall  I  die. 

And  the  world,  without  us,  is  dead. 

On  thy  lips  I  breathe  ; 
This  only  the  circle  of  earth, 

Which  thy  white  arms  enwreathe. 

Yet  stay  !  On  the  chance  of  the  hour 

Hangs  my  lot ; 
Shall  I  fold  thee  again  to  my  heart, 

Ambition  forgot  ? 

Nay !  Find  a  new  love  for  thyself  ; 

Let  me  go  ! 
Tired  quite  of  the  warmth  of  thy  fire, 

To  the  cold  glittering  snow. 


A  RED  SUNSET. 

The  red  sky  in  the  West 

Is  the  light  of  a  life  that's  spent. 
The  sun,  in  crimson  nest, 

Lies  in  clouds  of  glory  blent. 
But  behind  him  darkness  lies, 
And  with  him  bright  hope  flies, 
And  leaves  despair  and  sighs. 

The  sky  in  the  West  is  red ; 

And  the  day  and  life  are  dead. 
Hope  thou  with  the  rising  sun, 

When  the  day  has  just  begun, 
But  despair  when  he  leaves  thee  lone, 
And  the  earth  is  cold  as  stone, 
And  the  dying  lie  and  moan. 

For  the  sky  above  is  dark 
And  the  sky  behind  is  drear ; 

There  is  no  hope— but  hark ! 
Far  off  music  we  can  hear ; 

And  it  sweeps  across  the  soul, 

As  it  fails  to  reach  its  goal, 

And  the  melodies  onward  roll. 

And  the  red  sky  fades  away  ; 

Nevermore  for  us  the  light 
Shall  announce  the  coming  day, 

After  hours  of  weary  night. 
(13O 


132 

For  we  lie,  bereft,  forlorn, 

Of  our  dear-loved  bodies  shorn, 

And  our  souls  forever  mourn. 

O  ye  singers,  heed  us  not ; 

Ye  are  happy,  for  ye  know 
Nothing  of  our  saddened  lot, 

In  the  darkness  here  below. 
All  our  loves  from  us  have  fled, 
All  our  heart's  blood  we  have  bled, 
We  are  down  among  the  dead. 


WAITING. 

A  lonely  watcher  waiting  for  the  dawn, 
A  sick  man,  tossing,  with  the  cry, 
"  Is  there  no  glimmer  in  the  sky 

To  tell  of  coming  morn  ?" 

A  weeping  group  around  a  bed, 
Waiting  as  moments  faster  speed, 
The  breaking  of  the  bruised  reed, 

Till  all  is  over— with  the  dead. 

Two  fair-haired  children  at  the  gate, 
Waiting,  and  gazing  down  the  street, 
To  be  the  very  first  to  greet 

The  weary  father,  coming  late. 

A  man  condemned,  in  narrow  cell, 
Waiting  his  single,  only  hour  ; 
Before  Eternity's  dim  glower, 

Called  nearer  by  the  tolling  bell. 

A  maiden,  by  the  light  of  moon, 
Waiting  within  the  garden's  shade, 
"  What  can  his  footsteps  have  delayed, 

He  must  be  coming,  coming  soon." 

A  dying  man  waiting  for  death, 
The  leader  of  a  hope  forlorn, 
On  whom  the  silent  cannon  yawn, 

While  calm  as  child  he  draws  his  breath. 
(i33) 


134 

A  merchant,  waiting  till  he  heaps 
His  treasure-house  with  riches,  high, 
While  Ruin  waits  with  eager  eye, 

Or  lurking  death  behind  him  creeps. 

A  starving  child,  waiting  for  bread ; 
Gazing  in  brightly-lighted  shops 
With  agony,  till  down  it  drops, 

Before  the  food,  and  lies  there — dead. 

The  world  is  waiting — young  and  old, 
Waiting,  and  watching  thro'  the  years  ; 
With  laugh  and  jest,  with  pain  and  tears, 

Till  the  long  story  all  is  told. 


MYSTERY. 

Look  through  the  records  of  the  past  and  see, 
In  every  age,  some  tinge  of  mystery. 
For  mystery,  though  a  charm,  'tis  truly  said, 
Is  but  the  lure  by  which  mankind  is  led 
To  heights  of  knowledge.     As  of  old  the  sage, 
Gazing  long  sky-ward,  in  benighted  age, 
Fancied  the  wondrous  movements  of  the  stars 
Betokened  human  fates ;  to  nations  wars, 
Distresses,  famines,  plagues,  while  unto  men 
Lots  were  assigned  by  Power  beyond  their  ken, 
Lots,  good  and  evil,  lives  of  pleasure,  pain, 
Spent  in  great  actions,  or  lived  out  in  vain ; 
Yet  there  arose,  as  time  maturer  grew, 
Men  who  pursued  unceasing,  till  they  knew 
The  ways  of  stars  and  their  mysterious  round, 
And  in  Astronomy  a  science  found ; 
As  searching  Alchemists  long  vainly  strove 
To  change  base  metal  to  the  gold  we  love — 
Find  the  "  Elixir  Vitas,"  essence  pure, 
Imbibing  which — eternal  we  endure ; 
Yet  while  they  strove  to  wrest  the  secret  rare 
From  Mother  Nature,  all  their  pains  and  care 
Fruitless  for  this,  availed  for  other  use — 
To  save  those  secrets  from  her  hand  let  loose, 
With  many  more,  till  Chemistry  became 
A  living  science,  and  a  mighty  name ; 
As  in  pursuit  of  the  perennial  stream 
Whose  Youth  Perpetual,  was  a  poet's  dream, 
(i35) 


136 

And  wandering  after  El  Dorado's  gold, 
Or  wealth  of  Indies — tales  by  travelers  told — 
Across  the  seas  to  virgin  fields  men  came 
And  gave  America  its  folk  and  name  ; 
So  everywhere,  if  to  the  Past  we  look, 
Mystery  points  but  to  the  sealed  book, 
Bidding  us  break  the  seal  and  read  the  page, 
To  unravel  every  secret  of  the  age. 
Still,  as  of  old,  before  our  dazzled  eyes 
Some  mystery  forever  holds  a  prize, 
Close  in  its  casket — to  the  finder  worth 
Some  of  the  best  rewards  of  Mother  Earth; 
Or  the  still  dearer  gift,  that  falls  to  few, 
Their  own  true  pride  in  finding  what  is  true. 
Let  us  not  live,  as  men  are  prone  to  live, 
Taking  contented  what  the  world  can  give  ; 
Behind  the  doubt  the  truth  must  lie  concealed, 
And  by  our  search  alone  can  be  reveak-d ; 
Beneath  the  fact  lies  hidden  the  idea ; 
Behind  the  rainbowed  cloud  the  sunlight  clear. 
Beyond  each  form  we  see  there  ever  shone 
Its  Archetype,  that  dwells  in  God  alone. 


WORK. 

Better  work  all  clay  with  plane, 
Saw  and  adze,  and  daily  earn 
Daily  bread,  and  daily  learn 

That  toil  is  sweet ; 
That  'tis  better  far  to  turn 
All  our  skill,  all  our  brain, 
To  the  work  we  have  to  do, 
Than,  among  the  idle  few, 

Life  to  live,  death  to  meet. 

Better  live  a  life  alone, 

Sad  by  turns  and  sorely  tried, 

Yet  in  loneliness  abide 

Till  we  die ; 
Than  along  our  way  to  glide, 
Using  blessings  never  known, 
Without  thanks,  without  care, 
So  the  skies  be  always  fair, 

And  at  night  we  quiet  lie. 


(i37) 


MELODY. 

What  to  me,  0  Melody,  art  thou  telling  ? 

Rising  and  falling,  dying  and  swelling ; 

What  the  thought  that  brings  these  fears  to  me, 

What  the  whisper  that  wrings  these  tears  from  me  ? 

Speaking  ever  an  unknown  tongue  to  me, 

Yet  I  know  all  thou  hast  sung  to  me. 

What  dost  bring  to  me  ?  What  am  I  wanting  ? 

For  there  clings  to  me,  something  haunting; 

Something  intangible,  and  so  fleet, 

Something  sorrowful,  yet  so  sweet. 

I  have  a  song  for  thee,  give  but  speech  to  me. 

I  so  long  for  thee,  yet  cannot  reach  thee. 

Sweet  melody,  higher  trilling, 

Spirit  goes  with  thee,  ever  willing. 


(138) 


What  to  me  art  thou  softly  saying  ? 

Soul  of  me,  heart  of  me,  swift  obeying ; 

Tears  to  my  eyes  suddenly  welling, 

Heart  wildly  throbbing,  madly  swelling, 

Beating,  and  sobbing,  almost  bursting 

Out  from  me,  for  an  answer  thirsting. 

Canst  thou  not  tell  me  ?  Whence  this  lonefins:  ? 

For  all  thou  hast  in  thee,  to  me  belonging  ? 

Some  lost  something,  forever  gone  for  me, 

Untold  something,  yet  to  be  won  for  me. 

Soft  spirit  language  that  now  has  flown  from  me, 

Wilt  thou  ever  speak  tongue  that  is  known  to  me  ? 

Sweet  melody,  louder  trilling, 

Thro'  my  soul,  still  thou  art  thrilling. 


MY  GALLERY. 

I  my  walls  would  cover 
With  rare  pictures  over, 

But  I  cannot  buy  them,  though  I  love  them  all  too 
well ; 
Cannot  aid  the  painter 
When  his  touch  grows  fainter, 

And  he  looks  despairing  on  the  works  he  cannot 
sell. 

Cannot  buy  at  pleasure 
Some  rich  gallery's  treasure, 

Bear  it  home  in  triumph,  and  hang  it  fair  in  sight ; 
Call  my  friends  around  it, 
Tell  them  where  I  found  it, 

And  discuss  the  mysteries  of  tone  and  shade  and 
light. 

Pray,  where  could  I  place  them, 
Not  to  quite  disgrace  them, 

In  my  humble  dwelling  there  is  hardly  spot  to  spare  ; 
Furnished  rather  poorly 
Is  it,  and  as  surely, 

There  is  scarcely  room  at  times  to  put  an  extra  chair. 

But  the  soul  is  spacious  ; 
Compensation  gracious 

Cometh  unto  every  man,  however  poor  or  low ; 
In  its  deep  recesses, 
WThich  no  stranger  guesses, 

There  do  I  my  treasures  with  joyful  hand  bestow. 

(140) 


141 

Visions  of  bright  beaches, 
Shining,  snowy  reaches, 

Rocks  lit  up  by  moonlight,  where  sit  my  love  and  I ; 
Scenes  upon  the  ocean, 
Catching  the  soft  motion 

Of  the  undulating  boat  in  which  at  ease  I  lie. 

Skies  of  tint  etherial, 
Purple  quite  imperial, 

Golden  yellow,  azure  blue,  and  misty  fleecy  white, 
Where,  beneath  the  crumbling 
Wrecks  of  arches  tumbling, 

You  and  I  are  sitting,  in  the  warm  and  glowing  light. 

By  some  placid  river, 
Where  the  rushes  quiver, 

To  the  gentle  motion  of  the  subtly  stealing  tide ; 
Half  the  stream  deep-shaded 
By  the  branches  braided 

In  a  leafy  roof,  above  the  river's  grassy  side. 

If  in  foreign  regions 
I  review  the  legions, 

Wrought  by  evanescent  hands  in  everlasting  stone, 
Straight  I  find,  returning, 
Their  clear  outline  burning, 

For  they  journeyed  with  me,  when  I  deemed  myself 
alone. 

Some  white-limbed  Apollo 
Gazing  o'er  the  hollow 

Empty  world  beneath  him,  with  a  smile  of  sad  dis- 
dain ; 


142 

Viewing  with  derision 
The  fantastic  vision, 

Knowing  how  they  vanish, — yet  he  will  still  remain. 

Some  gold-hairecl  Madonna 
Raised  high  upon  a 

Pedestal  of  human  love  and  human  loving  art, 
Raised  by  grand  emotion, 
And  one  soul's  devotion, 

Far  above  the  sordid  world,  from  human  love  apart. 

Scenes  of  days  forever 
Gone,  with  friends  who  never 

May  return  to  meet  us,  from  the  unknown  shore, 
Days  before  the  glamour 
Of  the  world — its  clamour, 

Sullied  all  the  fairness  of  the  years  that  come  no 
more. 

Dear  Friend — could  I  take  you 
Thro'  my  halls  and  make  you 

See  them  with  my  vision,  and  love  them  with  my 
heart ! 
But  the  porter,  zealous, 
Thrusts  you  from  me,  jealous, 

And  upon  the  threshold  we  for  once  must  part. 


THE  BEACHES. 

The  beaches,  the  white  beaches 
We  saw  with  eyes  closed  tightly, 
The  solemn,  changeless  roaring 

We  heard  in  silent  hours  ; 
The  fresh,  smooth,  sunny  reaches 
In  sunshine  flashing  brightly, 
The  white-winged  creatures  soaring, 

The  cliff  that  darkly  towers. 

Love  and  life  reviving, 
Springs  of  pleasure  welling, 
Childhood  oft  returning 

To  the  world-worn  face  ; 
Till  we  feel  like  striving 
To  be  ever  telling, 
All  the  visions  burning 

In  this  hour  of  grace. 

Oh !  how  in  the  weary 
Air  of  summer  noonday, 
When  the  winds  are  resting, 

And  the  world  is  still, 
Have  we  fancied,  dreary, 
This  sea;— seen  the  moon  play, 
With  its  shimmer  cresting 

Dark  waves  at  its  will. 


(i43) 


THE  MINSTER  BELLS. 

In  dim  silence  hamrin°: 
Mute,  so  lately  clanging, 
Rest  to  us  is  blessed 

As  it  is  to  man  below; 
And  we  brood  in  pleasure, 
Dreaming  out  some  measure, 
To  be  told,  in  waking  hours, 

With  our  whole  souls'  fervid  glow. 
When  the  day  comes  laughing, 
O'er  the  world  awaking, 
Ye  shall  hear  it,  ye  shall  know  it, 
On  your  lazy  slumbers  breaking. 

Ah,  ye  mould  us  proudly, 
Shape  us  to  ring  loudly, 
Hang  us  high  above  you  all, 

Yet  know  not  what  we  are  ; 
Know  not  how  we  ponder, 
Think  and  watch  and  wonder, 
As  ye  wonder  in  your  science 

On  some  distant  twinkling  star ; 
While  the  rain  is  rattling, 
And  the  winds  are  wrestling, 
To  o'erthrow  us,  for  they  envy  us, 
Within  our  shadows  nestling. 

And  the  raindrops  pattering, 
And  the  hailstones  clattering, 
(144) 


145 

Strike  from  us  a  music 
That  may  never  fall  to  you ; 

And  the  snow  sings  sweetly, 

As  it  falls  discreetly, 

Such  a  melody  as  you 

From  all  your  organs  never  drew ; — 

Such  a  trembling  murmur 

As  a  maid  may  lisp  her 

Love  with,  in  her  lover's  ear 

By  night,  with  softest  whisper. 

And  the  fierce  wind  blowing, 
Thro'  dark  arches  flowing 
In  upon  us,  as  it  strikes  us, 

Makes  us  ring  with  answering  sound. 
But  ye  cannot  hear  it, 
For  ye  are  not  near  it, 
All  ye  dull-eared  dwellers 

Upon  the  distant  ground. 
But  there  come  up  to  us, 
All  your  sounds  ascending, 
In  a  wonderful  and  mingled 
Inharmonious  tumult  blending. 

Hark  !  the  south  wind  coming, 
In  our  tower  a-humming 
Rises,  till  a  murmur  fills 

And  swells  toward  the  sky. 
'Tis  the  songs  we're  singing, 
Softly,  when  the  ringing, 
Noisy,  busy  ringing 

Of  the  day  has  passed  us  by  ; 


146 

'Tis  the  songs  we're  dreaming, 
'Tis  the  words  we're  saying, 
To  the  moonbeams  lightly 
O'er  our  stained  surface  playing. 

'Tis  the  echo  broken, 
Of  your  words  unspoken, 
Caught  in  our  great  open  mouths 

From  off  your  troubled  world. 
'Tis  the  sigh  of  sadness, 
'Tis  the  shout  of  gladness, 
That  upward,  like  the  smoke  wreaths, 

Unto  us  above  has  curled. 
And  we  catch  it  rising, 
And  we  hum  it  lowly, 
Mingling  in  a  mystic  song 
Its  cadence,  floating  slowly. 

With  a  human  feeling, 
When  the  daylight  stealing 
Upward,  thro'  the  night  shades, 

Lights  our  towers  with  ruddy  gold  — 
While  the  world  is  shaded, 
Since  at  eve  it  faded, 
Underneath  the  billowy  mists 

That  still  its  homes  enfold — 
We  await,  all  breathless, 
Till  a  thrill  comes  creeping 
To  our  still  tongues,  in  a  moment, 
Like  a  maddening  fire  leaping. 

We,  so  far  above  you, 
Still  like  brothers  love  you, 


147     . 

Watching  all  the  changes 

Of  your  toiling,  troubled  lives  ; 

See  you  in  the  city 

Hurry  on,  and  pity, 

Yea,  regret  the  tardy  hours 
Till  your  time  of  rest  arrives, 

Till  the  day  is  over, 

And  ye  toil  no  longer, 

For  the  rest  we  ring  ye  out 

Shall  make  the  weary  stronger. 

Ring  out  higher — bolder — 
In  glad  music  fold  her, 
As  there  comes  a  happy  bride 

Fill  all  the  air  with  sound  ; 
Tell  her  how  we  love  her, 
As  we  peal  above  her, 
Shaking,  with  tumultuous  joy, 

The  unloving,  stony  ground. 
Scatter  songs  around  her, 
Fill  the  air  with  singing, 
As  the  maidens  scatter 
Rosy  blossoms  to  our  ringing. 

Slowly  toll  we,  slowly, 

In  a  measure  holy, 

Lest  the  angels  round  us 

Might  take  flight  to  heaven  too  soon ; 
Ere  they  bear  uplifted, 
Thro'  some  cloud,  gold-rifted, 
One  more  soul  to  their  bright  home 

Beyond  the  sun  and  moon : 


148 

One  soul  freed  from  sorrow, 
One  more  glad  immortal, 
Borne  along,  with  songs  of  joy, 
Thro'  heaven's  radiant  portal : 

With  a  dirge  of  sorrow 
For  the  bitter  morrow, 
That  must  come  and  come  again 

To  loving  ones  they  leave  ; 
For  we  hear  their  crying, 
Yes,  we  catch  their  sighing, 
And  our  adamantine  hearts 

For  their  sorrows,  too,  may  grieve. 
And  we  strive  to  tell  them 
How  the  lost  are  winging, 
Upward  still,  their  eager  flight, 
With  new-found  voices  singing. 

We  will  ring  for  ages, 
While  the  wild  storm  rages, 
While  the  calm  lies  softly 

O'er  the  fields  and  homes  beneath ; 
Ring  the  radiant  morning 
At  its  faintest  dawning, 
Ring  the  eve  that  creepeth 

O'er  the  world  with  bated  breath  ; 
Guard  your  sleep  from  danger, 
Sound  the  hurried  warning, 
On  the  leaping  fires  below 
Looking  down  in  lofty  scorning. 

Every  creature  leaves  us, 
This  it  is  that  grieves  us, 


149 

We  must  hang  forever 

Where  ye  hung  us,  to  the  end. 
We  grow  old  and  older 
And  our  fires  are  colder, 
But  we  never  with  you 

May  at  last  in  joy  ascend. 
We  must  hang  and  moulder, 
Rust  with  years  and  crumble, 
We  are  high  above  you  now, 
But  time  will  make  us  humble. 

When  ye  all  are  slumbering 
'Neath  us,  then  in  numbering, 
Silently  and  sadly, 
The  still  days  our  lives  will  go ; 
Who  shall  hear  the  ringing 
When,  our  mad  tones  flinging 
To  the  sky,  at  last,  an  earthquake 

Shall  dash  us  down  below ; 
With  our  falling  towers, 
Dash  us — crash  us — crying 
Louder—  fiercer — then  in  anguish 
And  despair,  sullen  dying. 


THE  WAY  OF  LIFE. 

And  so  we  go  thro'  life  ; 

The  endless  days  of  weariness, 

The  meagre  days  of  joy  ; 
The  fleeting  hours  of  merriment, 
The  long,  sad  hours  of  worriment, 
The  brightness  and  the  dreariness, 

The  gold  and  the  alloy. 

And  so  we  go  thro'  life ; 
The  misery,  the  painful  loss, 

The  bitter  toil ; 
The  bounding  health, 
The  flowing  wealth, 
The  core  of  dross 

Within  the  golden  foil. 

And  so  we  go  thro'  life ; 
The  lover's  mystery, 

The  wedded  blessedness, 
The  bitter  history 
Of  hearts  estranged, 
Homes  disarranged, 

The  hatred  and  the  happiness. 

And  so  we  go  through  life  ; 
The  flush  of  bright  success, 

The  sad  unfortunate, 
The  sought,  but  unfound,  happiness, 

(150) 


i5i 

The  found,  though  unsought  happiness, 
Thick  set  throughout  this  wilderness, 
Beset  us  so  importunate. 

And  so  we  go  through  life  ; 

The  feigned  laugh,  the  aching  heart, 

The  smiling  look, 
The  angry  fire  within  ; 
Sweet  innocence  upon  the  face  of  sin, 
The  blush  of  shame  upon  the  innocent, 

Sorrow  to  meet  and  joy  to  part. 


DREAMING. 

Dreaming*  child-dreams 

Which  men  are  given  to  dreaming  ; 

Waking  in  larger  age 

To  find  the  dreams  are  flown. 
Dreaming  of  death, 
While  life  is  only  seeming ; 
Waking  from  life  to  death 

And  joys  unknown. 

Waking  to  lives  undreamed 

And  scenes  so  new  ; 

Waking,  in  pure  delight,  to  what 

We  never  dreamed  of  seeing  ; 
Sleeping  to  earth  and  seeming, 
And  all  that  once  was  true, 
Waking  from  out  time's  dreaming, 

To  Eternity's  real  being. 


(152) 


SPHINX  OF  THE  EAST. 

Sphinx  of  the  East 

Out  on  the  red  sands  gazing, 

Dost  thou  still  ask 

Thy  questions  of  the  dead  ? 

Silence  surrounds  thee, 

Stillness,  dread,  amazing ; 

The  voice  of  busy  life 

Forever  fled. 

Sphinx  of  the  West 
Out  on  the  new  world  gazing, 
Down  at  thy  feet 
A  myriad  toilers  lie  ; 
Must  they  too  perish, 
Eyes  reproachful  raising, 
As  down  they  go  to  death 
And  hopeless  die  ? 

Solve  thine  own  riddle  ! 
Cease  thy  stony  gazing  ! 
Prove  to  the  world  of  men 
The  hope  they  claim  ; 
For  high  o'er  head, 
The  sun  of  science  blazing 
Casts  on  the  sands  beneath 
A  shadowed  name. 


(i53) 


SHADOWS. 

When  in  the  ending  of  the  day 
The  shadows  long  are  lying, 
And  golden  rays  of  sunlight  play, 
O'er  hill  and  valley  flying  ; 

When  purple  cloud  strives  to  enshroud 
And  bar  the  sun  from  sinking, 
And  scarcely  dare  we  speak  aloud 
The  thoughts  that  we  are  thinking ; 

We  can't  forget — in  sunlight  yet — 
That  day  is  slowly  dying, 
For  we  can  see,  'neath  rock  and  tree, 
The  shadows  longer  lying. 

O  eve  of  life  !  O  shadows  long  ! 
O  wind  of  evening  sighing  ! 
O  sinking  sun  !  O  night  begun  ! 
O  daylight  slowly  dying  ! 

Is  there  no  light,  no  sunbeam  bright, 
No  voice  to  hope  replying  ? 
No  coming  day,  no  sunny  way, 
When  day  and  we  are  dying  ? 

Bright  hope  replies,  "  Lift  tearful  eyes, 
Though  shadows  long  are  lying ; 
Though  night  comes  fast  'twill  soon  be  past, 
Darkness  from  daybreak  flying." 

O  shadows  long,  O  sad,  sweet  song 
Of  night — O  sweet  day  dying ! 
Still  will  we  wait,  though  morn  be  late, 
Dread  night  in  hope  defying. 


M19U208 


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